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wolfjackle-creates · 2 months ago

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I took part in the Demon Twins Who Wrote That game over on the Haunting Heroes DPxDC server and author reveals were today. So now I can finally post the fic I wrote for it!

No Place Left to Hide

Danny is on the run. He wants nothing more than to see his family, but they're out of his reach at the moment. Then he sees a magazine article and accompanying photo of Damian Wayne. His long-lost twin brother. Maybe he does have some family he can check on. Just to spy from a distance, of course. Getting too close would only make his situation worse. But when he gets caught in the halls of Gotham Academy, he might not have a choice in the matter.

AO3 Link

Word Count: 3.1k

Rating: T

Warning: a trans Danny mentions his deadname to Damian

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Danny stared down at Gotham Academy. Damian was just inside those walls. All he’d have to do was go intangible and he’d be able to see his twin for the first time in eight years. The thought made his core ache, a throbbing that echoed in his still-healing injuries.

He was descending before ever consciously making the choice to actually see his brother.

It was stupid. What if Damian caught him? Told Talia, or worse, Ra’s? Then it wouldn’t just be the Fentons and the GIW after him, but also the League of Assassins. And he was already injured.

But he had to see. He hadn’t seen Damian in years. Had lived half his life without his twin at this point.

He should leave. He shouldn’t be here at all.

A moment later, he’d phased through the roof and floated invisibly in the middle of a locker-lined hallway. He allowed gravity to once more take control of him and his feet settled on the linoleum floor.

Now, to find Damian. Just to see him, make sure he was safe. The rest of his family were out of his reach; the GIW was monitoring them too closely for Danny to risk visiting. Or even just check in from a distance. And Danny’s core was demanding he check on his loved ones.

He’d been debating risking a visit to them regardless of the risk when he saw the magazine article: Wayne Boy Volunteers at Animal Shelter. The attached picture brought a smile to Danny’s face. One of the few genuine smiles he’d worn since being forced on the run. In it, Damian was glaring at the camera, but his arms were gentle as he cradled a puppy. Behind him stood Bruce Wayne, grinning widely. In the article, Bruce talked about how proud he was of his youngest son and his big heart. Back when they’d been with the League, Danny had been the only one to know of Damian’s gentleness.

Reading the article, seeing the picture had healed something in Danny. Damian had gotten out. Something he’d thought impossible when he left half a lifetime ago.

And now he was here to confirm it. To check on the twin he’d left behind. Make sure he was healthy and safe and happy. He’d never seen Damian be any of those things before. Not beyond fleeting moments carved out in secret.

Though… He looked around the empty hallway and bit his lip. The school was huge and he had no idea what Damian’s schedule looked like. Where should he even start?

Footsteps echoed down the hall and Danny instinctively moved to the side to let whomever it was pass.

Only to feel a hand grip his shoulder.

Danny just barely kept himself from twisting and throwing a punch at the person. He wasn’t able stop himself from jumping a foot in the air, though. And if he hung in the air a bit longer than gravity should’ve allowed, well, Danny could only hope the person gripping his arm didn’t notice.

“Wayne, why are you in the hallways out of uniform rather than in your class?”

Danny blinked in surprise. “What?” he asked. This guy couldn’t actually have mistaken him for Damian, could he have? They weren’t identical twins. They didn’t even have the same skin tone!

Though Danny did suppose he’d gotten more tanned lately. Being on the run meant he was spending much more time outside than normal and he always did tan pretty well, one thing to thank Talia for he supposed.

The hall monitor rolled his eyes. “Where are you supposed to be right now?”

Danny opened his mouth, then shut it again. Should he disappear? But what if the teacher reported it? Would the GIW come to investigate? Would Damian, growing up around Lazarus pits, ping on their sensors?

He stayed put and he stayed silent.

The teacher sniffed and pulled out his phone. After tapping a bit, he announced, “History with Mr. Binder. I’ll accompany you back and we will be contacting your father about this behavior.”

He grabbed Danny’s shoulder again and marched him through the hallways. Danny allowed it, not sure what else to do. And still so desperate to see his brother.

When they reached what must be Damian’s classroom, the man knocked once, then pushed the door open.

“Sorry for the interruption, Mr. Binder. But I found one of your students wandering the hallways.”

Danny had barely glanced inside the classroom when his eyes fell on Damian. Everything else fell away. He didn’t see the other kids, didn’t hear Mr. Binder’s response. All he could see was Damian.

Even sitting, it was clear Damian was taller than Danny. His hair was shorter, his muscles more defined. And he was holding his pencil like it was a dagger he was going to throw through Danny’s throat.

Danny grinned and, speaking a language he’d barely used in eight years, said, “It’s been a long time, brother.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed further, but he kept his posture relaxed. Except for his grip on his pencil. “You’re no brother of mine. Who are you?” asked Damian, also in Arabic.

Danny clutched his hands to his chest. “How could you not remember me?” he wailed. But he couldn’t keep up the feigned offense for more than a second and grinned. “Though, I suppose you did used to call me sister. A lot’s changed in eight years, brother. Liat died in the league; I go by Danny now.”

At Danny’s mention of his deadname, the pencil fell from Damian’s hands. The sound of it hitting the floor was loud in the otherwise silent room. But when Damian spoke, his voice was steady. “Prove it.”

Danny inclined his head in a mock bow. “If you insist,” he said, switching to English. “The sun did not shine, it was too wet to play. So we sat in the house, all that cold, cold, wet day.”

Damian stood, sending his chair tumbling to the floor. “Enough!”

Danny obediently stopped reciting and grinned at Damian.

Damian hated The Cat in the Hat. Danny had heard it when he’d been sent to a daycare on one of his first missions to slip a child a mild poison that’d leave her sick for a few days and a letter for her father, a man who’d been planning to betray the league.

Danny had fallen in love. He’d smuggled the book out with him when he’d finished his task. The idea of a cat in a hat coming to the league and causing a bit of destruction helped him withstand the endless trainings and trials. Besides, their grandfather and mother deserved it. And Damian just didn’t see.

Though now Danny realized that was because Damian had never been allowed to glimpse what life could be outside the League. Danny, on the other hand, had been trained in spying and infiltration. Which meant he had to understand how kids his age worked and thought and acted. So he had to be around them with some regularity.

What he’d learned was that he wanted their lives, not his own. A lesson he tried, and failed, to teach Damian.

Before either Damian or Danny could think of something to say to each other, the History teacher cleared his throat. “Damian, what is going on here?”

Damian immediately stood to attention, just as Talia had taught him. “I apologize for the intrusion. My… brother came for an unexpected visit. May we be excused to the office so I can call my father?”

“I wasn’t aware you had another sibling your age,” said the teacher with a raised eyebrow.

“He’s from my mother’s side,” said Damian.

Danny hummed. True enough, he supposed. They did share a biological mother. Even if Danny refused to ever acknowledge her as such ever again.

He really didn’t have much luck with mother figures, did he? Maddie had turned out to be just as bad as Talia.

In the end, the teacher really didn’t have a choice but to let them go. Though the hall monitor who had caught Danny insisted on accompanying them all the way to the office despite Damian’s protests that he knew the way.

Danny hid a scowl at the situation. He’d had no intentions of meeting Bruce Wayne and now it looked like he’d either have to reveal his powers and run or meet his biological father. His core ached at the thought of leaving Damian, though. And he couldn’t risk letting Ra’s or Talia find out about his powers.

He ignored the longing he felt at the potential for a true family, for a father who loved him unconditionally. He was zero for three on parental figures. No way was he going to try for a fourth.

“How are you here?” asked Damian in Arabic as they walked.

Danny shrugged and answered in the same language. “Didn’t have anywhere else to be. Saw you in a magazine and figured I’d check in.”

“In a—” Damian cut off with a noise of frustration. “I thought you were dead. Did Mother put you in a pit?”

“As far as I’m aware, both Talia and Ra’s are also under the impression I am dead-dead. Though now that we’ve had contact, I don’t suppose that will last much longer.”

“How did you survive?” demanded Damian.

Danny stared ahead and bit his lip. After a moment, he said, “I did try and take you with me, you know. You were the only thing I regretted leaving behind.”

The resulting silence lasted until they reached the front office. Danny didn’t know how to break it.

They were instructed to sit in plush seats facing the office staff where they could be observed as Damian spoke to their his dad.

Damian pulled out his phone, but before he dialed, asked, “How did you get caught? Have you forgotten all your training?”

Danny didn’t bother to try and hide his blush. He’d been relying on his powers and must’ve let his invisibility drop by mistake. It was just…he’d been on the run for almost two months now. He was hungry and tired and in pain. If Jazz knew, she’d scold him for neglecting himself. He should’ve expected something like this would happen the moment he got distracted.

But how to explain that without explaining everything? “The last few months have been hard,” he settled on. “Due to certain circumstances, I am no longer welcome at the place I’ve called home the last few years and had to leave suddenly. Thus, I am not currently at optimal physical health. I grew careless.”

Damian frowned and looked down at his phone. Rather than answer, he opened his contacts and dialed the one labeled “Father.”

Danny probably should be more cautious. He probably shouldn’t trust Damian. But this was his brother. The only good thing from his early childhood.

And he was so, so tired.

Danny let himself slump against Damian’s side. Damian tensed for just a moment before he relaxed.

“Hello, Father,” said Damian into the phone.

Danny let his eyes drift shut as he listened to Damian’s side of the conversation.

“No. I am well. But there’s been a situation.”

Danny snorted at that description, and Damian pinched his thigh.

“It is not something I can explain over the phone, but I need to be picked up from school. Immediately.”

Bruce Wayne’s voice was just indistinct enough that Danny had a hard time understanding it, though he could hear the worry in it.

“It is a family matter. You will wish to be here quickly as there is a strong possibility we will not have the chance again.”

“Think I’m that good, do you?” huffed Danny under his breath. Damian just pinched him again with a tut.

“Could you stop and pick up a smoothie on your way in? With extra protein powder?”

Danny’s breath caught. Was Damian asking on his behalf? It’d been so long since he’d been around Jazz or his friends. He hadn’t had anyone look out for his wellbeing in months.

He screwed his eyes tight against the burning and focused on keeping his breathing steady.

The rest of Damian’s conversation consisted of stilted goodbyes and promises of explanations once they got home.

Despite his apprehension at meeting Bruce, sitting in a comfortable chair leaning against his brother after months of being on edge was enough for him to slip into a shallow doze. Damian would keep him safe. Whatever disagreements they’d had as children, that had been a constant. Danny was vaguely aware of the office staff talking and making noises. Damian’s shoulder shifted slightly as he did something on his phone. But Danny was more asleep than awake.

Until Damian tensed and shrugged his shoulder. “Father’s here,” he whispered in Arabic.

Danny was instantly awake, though he kept his posture relaxed. Bruce Wayne was someone who had attracted the attention of Talia al Ghul. Whatever face he presented to the public had to be a lie, and Danny didn’t know what to expect from him.

One thing Danny did know, though, was that he refused to go back to who he’d been with the league. The formality was so exhausting. And his very core rebelled at the thought of going back to a life of violence and suffering. He’d left to be a regular American kid, and that was what Bruce Wayne would meet.

Maybe his second death made that life impossible, but while he still had breath in his lungs and a heart that beat, he was going to cling to the dream.

So, rather than follow Damian’s lead and sit up straight and formal, Danny stretched his arms up and yawned loudly. “Ope, sorry for falling asleep there on you Dami,” he said in his strongest Midwestern accent.

Damian shot him a look, but didn’t respond. Still, when he stood, he offered a hand to Danny to help him up as well.

Danny grinned as he took it. Then he took a fortifying breath and turned to face Bruce Wayne, his biological father.

Bruce stared at him, face blank. His eyes lingered on where Danny still clasped Damian’s hand. To his disappointment, Damian let go at the look.

The stern look only lasted seconds before Bruce smiled broadly and his body language became relaxed and open. “You must be a friend of Damian’s! I take it this is for you?” He held out the smoothie for Danny.

Danny hesitated. His stomach ached with hunger, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. This was his biological father.

Damian misunderstood his hesitation and grabbed the smoothie himself. He took a deep swallow and in Arabic said, “It is safe, brother.”

If Danny hadn’t been staring so intently at Bruce, he would’ve missed the small twitch the man made at the word “brother.”

Danny grabbed the smoothie and took a long drink. He couldn’t stop the quiet sigh at the taste. It was the best thing he’d had in weeks. “So, what’s the plan?”

“I’m parked right out front! Let me just sign you both out and we can be on our way.”

“Oh, you just have to sign out Damian. I’m not a student.”

“Well, I suppose that explains the lack of a uniform! How do you know my Damian, then?”

“Father,” hissed Damian. In Arabic he said, “I will explain what I can in the car as I promised.”

Danny just took another sip of his smoothie and remained silent.

Bruce’s eyes flicked to Danny, gaze sharp. But he remained relaxed and ruffled Damian’s hair. “Of course, of course.”

Damian glared at him as he smoothed his hair back down.

Bruce laughed with the office staff and signed the requisite paperwork, then the three were making their way outside.

The car out front was a fancy sports car. Danny hesitated a moment before entering. He glanced down in both directions, but knew a school like this would have too many cameras to hide from.

And now that he had Damian in front of him, he was certain his core would protest if he tried to leave.

Damian made a sharp gesture to him, ordering him into the car. Danny slid in. The door shut behind him. He gripped his smoothie with both hands to mask their shaking and took another sip.

“Father,” started Damian. “This is…” he broke off.

“Yes?” prompted Bruce after a moment.

“This is my twin brother, Danny. Your other biological son.”

Bruce froze. Danny didn’t even think he was breathing. One hand rested on the gear stick where he’d been planning to put the car in drive, the other dug into his own leg.

“What.” Bruce’s voice was hard and flat, not a hint of the jovial man from the office.

“In his defense,” said Danny. “He thought I was his twin sister. And that I was dead.”

Bruce’s eyes closed and he took several deep breaths. “Your name is Danny?”

“Yep.” Danny popped the p. “Chose it myself six years ago.”

“It’s…a good name.”

“Thanks! It was my dad’s dad’s name.”

“Your dad?” asked Bruce.

Danny hummed. “Yeah. Got myself adopted after I ran away from Talia and Ra’s. But that living situation fell through a few months ago.” Which, really, understatement of the century, but Danny wasn’t going to go into it. “So I had to leave. Thought I’d check up on Damian. Mind if I come over to visit after Damian gets out of school for the next few days? I’ve got a hotel room lined up in the city,” he lied. Squatting was way easier when you were half-ghost.

Damian broke in at that. “You will be staying with us, not in some hotel,” he spat the last word. “And not just for a few days. Live with us.”

“Can’t stay more than a few days, I’m afraid.” The GIW or his parents would definitely find him if he did. “But if no one minds, I won’t turn down a room if you’ve got a spare.”

“Father’s house is large,” said Damian. “There are plenty of spare rooms.”

“Damian is right,” said Bruce. “I insist you stay with us. We can discuss more over lunch when we’re comfortable.”

Danny shrugged. “If you insist.” He’d disappear, of course. Too risky to stay and lead the GIW to Damian when he still wasn’t sure of the connection between ectoplasm and the Lazarus pits.

Bruce let out a long sigh and put the car in gear. “I do,” was all he said.

Danny watched the scenery go by, pretending not to notice the two pairs of eyes glued to him.

After several long minutes of uncomfortable silence, Bruce spoke again. “I am glad to meet you, Danny. I’m happy you came to Gotham.”

Danny hummed. He supposed time would tell if any of them would come to regret it.

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Hope you enjoy!

#dpxdc #danny fenton #damian wayne #demon twin au #i have so much i could say about this #it is based on the very first plot bunny i ever got for dpxdc #one that ive never really done more than gesture at #only talked in detail about it in private #because i was focusing on other things #so i am so happy i got to finally write this #danny falling asleep on damian #and the smoothie #are two things that i have been thinking about for like 2 years at this point

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nalyra-dreaming · 19 days ago

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hi nalyra, a couple of days ago i saw you answering something about the possibility of tr*mp being elected and that not being great for iwtv and shows in general i think. i'm not sure i understood what's going to happen now that the nightmare came true. would you mind explaining to me?

Well….

I mean, you heard about Project 2025, maybe?

If you haven't... well, I posted about it months ago, and ... it might be too late now, but the Trump administration and his enablers set up this nice little playbook. It's worth looking into, because that's what they want.

We'll see if they manage, but... remember how fast the environmental websites disappeared last time? The LGBT ones? Yep. I remember. First day. And it's easy to check the shit show that happened because of Trump's first term, and still...

Anyways, what does that mean for IWTV?

Let me be cynical for a moment - what do you think it means?

A show, addressing racial issues, with a color-conscious recast. A show, featuring more or less all queer characters. A show, about to feature non-binary and genderqueer characters. A show, not afraid of putting its fingers into wounds.

It is a good thing they're about to start filming s3 already.

I hope we will get s4.

For more I do not dare to hope for.

I ... don't think it's going to be cancelled immediately. And maybe we'll get lucky and AMC will continue to thrive through the people loving the show. Luckily AMC is situated in New York, too.

But if they implement legislation, like they plan to?

Then that will impact. You probably cannot quite fathom how much - yet.

If the Trump administration manages to implement half of what they're planning it will throw back the US for decades.

And with it the culture, and ... well. TV shows, too. Remember all the porn bans, and - even more benevolently - the cookie popups?? LEGISLATION. The wet dream of these people. And they just scored a major victory.

IWTV is the very antithesis for a lot of their beliefs. Queer, racially sensitive and highly critical.

It will be a thorn in their side, and they will seek to remove it.

It will be up to us to make it lucrative enough for AMC to put up with the backlash btw or even fight back against legislation/censorship. Like, seriously. Should IWTV get 10 seasons? YEP. Does AMC plan to do so? Yes. At this point at least they do.

Will they be able to fight against legislation? Debatable.

So maybe this fandom can fucking stop infighting about fucking fictional characters and maybe actually work to keep this friggin' show.

Hope dies last. -.-

Oh, and while we're at it: It's a good thing Ao3 is in CA, but please don't think that they are absolutely safe there. Four years is a long time, and I don't think Trump is going to hold any election after those four years.... -.-

#ask nalyra #sorry talking about trump after all but #well #amc iwtv #iwtv #amc interview with the vampire #anonymous #interview with the vampire #us politics

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byslantedlight · 7 months ago

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Hello OFMD Tumblr thingie, and all the amazing people who are out there, and especially the ones who've been making all the posts that have made me so happy over the last few months. 💖💖💖 First and most importantly, thank you, thank you, thank you, to anyone who sees this!

This is my first post to Tumblr (probably pretty obvious from my huge lack of Tumblr sophistication! And the length of this post...) If you don't count reblogging things that I wanted to be able to find again. I've braved up to comment thank you to people a couple of times, but that's been it so far. I must admit it all looks a bit scary from this side of the glass, even though I can also see how friendly people mostly are.

But OFMD fandom is big! And you've been here a long time! I loved Series 1 when I watched it, and knew I wanted to watch out for Series 2, but it wasn't until I re-watched it when the Series 2 trailer came out on BBC iPlayer that I fell veeeery in love with it! And by then you were already here, and there was a language and debates about things I'd barely even noticed, and it's mostly me staring with big eyes thinking wow, and sometimes huh? and... well, you know. Plus there's trying to work out Tumblr, which I definitely haven't actually managed to do yet, and possibly never will, so... I decided to just jump in and post summat. Even just rambling, which is a bit of a specialty of mine... I mean - what's the worst that can happen, right? 😬

So... how come now? Well, I can't make art or gorgeous screenshots or gifs. I do write, but I'm still hanging out to get the right voices in my keyboard... I know them when I hear them, but you've gotta get the right rhythm going, and I'm not quite there yet, I don't think. Although really, I should probably just sit down and try (and stop waiting for work to shut up and give me time - I should be a pirate and take it!)

Anyway (told you about the rambling...) what I'm mostly doing apart from rewatching the eps on a constant loop is reading the fic. I'm picking it according to kudos on AO3, and according to recs that I see on Tumblr, and it's occured to me that alot of the stories I'm loving must have been recced looong ago, and that newbies like me totally missed them, and so maybe I could do my own recs, even if they are of older stories, and someone might find them useful. You know, if I work out how anyone else might ever see my posts. 😁 And if people aren't put off by my probably age-revealing use of emojis. (But I am entirely age-appropriate for Ed and Stede, and if I had to look up what zaddy meant too, well, that just means I matched Rhys Darby's expression in the bts, right? 🤨)

So it's not much, but I'd like to contribute even just a tiny bit to OFMD fandom in return for everything it gives me, so... yeah. That's my plan. I'll start in a bit, but this post is probably already too long since it's just rambling. And kind of dull. I should probably have said tl:dr at the top, shouldn't I, but then maybe anyone who actually saw this wouldn't, so... See, I kind of live in hope. 😊

Okay. Tags next, right? ... ack ... why won't it let me create new tags instead of just using ones from the drop down...? Well, those will have to do for now... maybe someone who sees this will have mercy and tell me how? I'll just be over here being a slight failure at Tumblr... And if you've made it this far (how long is an acceptable post over here?! Not this long, I don't think...) - thank you hugely for just that, and may your dreams be OFMD and joyous!

#ofmd #ofmd fanfic

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moonferry · 6 months ago

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hello all. i was inspired by a line of dialogue harvey has when u marry him and decided to write a little drabble!

fic name: a doctor's worst nightmare

word count: 1459

pairing: harvey x gn!reader

warnings: hospitals, near death experiences, blasphemy, ooc swearing due to high stress/emotions

genre: angst. don't worry it has a happy ending!

characters: harvey, gn!farmer, abigail (briefly)

fic below the cut! i will also be posting this on ao3!

harvey hummed to himself as he continued to work on his newest model plane. he had been meticulously painting all the tiny details - all the way from the pilot in the cockpit to the silver detailing on the wheels - for the majority of the morning. he was so invested in his project he seemed to miss his spouse calling out that they would return later.

he finally finished his plane and set the delicate model onto a stand to dry. his stomach grumbled and he realized he had been much more invested in his project than he planned and he should probably have a quick snack. harvey trudged toward the farmhouse kitchen and was greeted by a small note which read: “i went to the mines with abby! i’ll be back by dinner, don't worry! love, farmer.”

harvey shook his head. leave it to his adventurous spouse to go into the mines, he thought. he did think it was quite odd that the farmer hadn't returned yet, though. didn’t they say ‘by dinner’? harvey glanced at the grandfather clock - which currently said 6:30 pm - and scratched his head.

before he could debate any further, a frantic knock came from outside. maybe the farmer is back? he thought as he went towards the door and opened it - peering outside. however, he was extremely surprised to see who was there.

“abigail? have you and the farmer finished your mining?” he asked, though he quickly noticed abigail looked much paler than usual.

“oh, harvey,” abigail spoke, her voice breaking in the middle of each syllable, “i'm so sorry.”

“hold on a second,” he paused, confusion washing over his face, “why are you apologizing? did something happen?”

abigail sniffled and harvey noticed that her eyes were bloodshot. she went quiet for a moment before replying, “it's the farmer. we need to go to the clinic right now.”

harvey felt as if the world was spinning around him. he clutched the mermaid pendant he had safely tucked inside his left shirt pocket - he always kept it there so the farmer would be as close to his heart as possible. his breathing went ragged and he had to lean against the door frame for support. of course something happens on the one day he doesn't go into the clinic.

he takes a second to compose himself and his breathing and then spoke with a calmness that felt almost alien, “let me get my things. i'll be right over.”

harvey had acquired an adrenaline-fueled almost super human speed as he grabbed his doctor’s bag and practically ran to the clinic.

his heart nearly sank when he saw the farmer: limp and spread haphazardly across the closest surface - which happened to be the floor. he was used to seeing the farmer with bruises, but never any this badly.

“help me get them into a bed. i need to properly examine them.” he instructed abigail. he didn't wait on a response before crouching down and lifting the farmer by their torso. the two placed the farmer securely onto the nearest hospital bed and harvey remembered the farmer’s note.

“abigail,” he started, turning towards the purple-haired girl, “what exactly happened when you two went into the mines?” he words came out almost accusatory, though he instantly regretted this when he saw the distress on abigail’s face.

abby sniffled again, rubbing her stinging eyes. “well, the farmer offered to help me with sword training..,” she began, speaking almost too softly for harvey to hear. “we started on the lower levels, of course, but i urged them that i was ready to take on a real monster… i.. i guess i wasn't. we encountered a really powerful one and it knocked my sword out of my hand-” she was interrupted by more tears and she recalled the events, “farmer jumped in to save me. they had almost defeated the creature when it exploded. they got caught in the middle of the explosion and got pinned under some rubble. we used all our strength to get them out and they told me to find you.”

abigail continued speaking through the tears - which were now streaming down her cheeks. her voice broke again, “oh, harvey. i'm so.. so sorry. it's all my fault. if only i had been stronger-”

“abigail, this is not your fault,” harvey reassured her. he glanced at his spouse, “if they hadn't been so damn heroic… no. this isn't their fault, either.” he was mainly talking to himself here.

he ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. “i think you should head home. leave this to me, alright? i’ll let you know if i have any updates.” abigail nodded and silently left the clinic.

harvey pulled up a chair and sat next to the hospital bead, his head resting against his palms and his elbows against the railing of the bed.

he sat there for a moment, listening to the heart monitor beeping steadily. he couldn't help but blame himself – if only he had been paying attention when the farmer left. maybe he could've convinced them to stay.

“oh, sweetheart,” harvey whispered, his hand moving to hold his spouse’s hand, “how could something like this happen?”

he had tried everything, yet the farmer’s condition didn't seem to be improving. harvey had spent weeks hunched over the hospital bed - his worry growing every second. he even neglected his own health, often forgetting meals because he didn't want to leave the farmer alone.

one day, something changed. the heart monitor continued to beep as usual before suddenly turning into one straight tone. the farmer was flatlining.

harvey felt his own heart constrict in his chest. the walls of the room felt as if they were closing in. this couldn't be happening. he couldn't lose them, especially after fighting so hard to keep them safe throughout their marriage.

“don't do this to me..,” he pleaded, tears welling up in his eyes. “yoba, you damn bastard! don't do this to me. don't take them away from me,” anger filled his voice and the tears began to stream down his cheeks. the salt burned his eyes, but he didn't seem to care. his calmness washed away. he was a nervous, upset wreck. this was his worst nightmare come true.

he laid his head down on the farmer’s chest - desperately listening and hoping for a heartbeat or the sound of breathing. for the longest time… nothing. not even the shallow in-and-out breaths that he’d grown accustomed to this week. he had almost given up hope before the faintest pulse came back.

harvey held his breath and waited for the pulse to grow stronger. at first nothing seemed to happen and harvey began to lose hope once again. then, harvey felt something press against the side of his face. he opened his eyes and saw the farmer had miraculously moved their hand and was currently cradling his face.

“oh, baby, you're okay,” harvey whispered with intense excitement and relief. he laid his own hand on top of the farmer’s and squeezed much harder than he meant to.

“harvey, you're going to break my fingers,” the farmer said in a matter-of-fact tone - as if they didn't just come back from the brink of death.

“don't ever scare me like that again!” harvey scolded, though he gently released the farmer’s hand. however, he quickly wrapped them in the biggest, bone-crushing hug ever.

the farmer chuckled at harvey’s smothering, though they winced and placed a hand against their still very bruised ribs.

harvey instantly noticed this and loosened his grip. he sat back down and more tears welled up in his eyes. the farmer placed their hand back on his cheek and wiped the tears away with their thumb.

“oh, harv, don't cry..”

“i’m just so happy you're okay. i was so worried the worst would happen.” he spoke, leaning his head into their palm. he closed his eyes and pressed a few kisses to their wrist.

this soft moment lasted for a few minutes before harvey pouted. “you are going to stay on bed rest, okay? no intense farm work and DEFINITELY no more exploring the mines for a while.” he scolded, though he was careful with his instructions.

“okay, doctor,” the farmer teased. they rested their forehead against harvey’s and closed their eyes.

“i'm serious, farmer.”

“i know, baby.”

“please be more careful. for my sake.”

“no promises,” the farmer joked, a wide smile spreading across their cheeks. they pressed a soft kiss against their husband’s lips - greeted by the familiar feeling of harvey’s mustache brushing against their upper lip.

“i knew you'd say that.” harvey shook his head. he brushed their hair behind their ear and gently kissed their forehead, “let’s get you home.”

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boredandwiredkitty · 2 months ago

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I've been debating weather to post this all in one go or by chapter. But due to how much I want to write I'm probably going to post by chapter. I may eventually post this on AO3 when it's completed so we'll see.

TFP WHEELJACK X IDOL!READER

So far there is no adult content but that doesn't mean it won't be in future chapters. I'll do my best to label those in the future.

Reader is AFAB

I do apologize this chapter is rather short.

Pushing past the exit you walked out the back door of the entertainment center. Getting away from the loud sounds and bright lights. To have your moment of peace in the chaos.

You leaned up against the railing that led down the stairs to the loading dock. Where the equipment crew were unloading lights and all other electronics and costumes for the concert.

Pulling your hat further down in an attempt to shield your face from view. You brought your little vape to your lips and took a long drag. It seeming to be the only thing that helped to calm your nerves.

You hated these moments. You always had the most anxiety before stepping out on stage. Thousands if not millions of eyes on you all at once. All expecting perfection.

You exhaled slowly. Your eyes roaming over the various stage hands and workers muddling about. They were mostly finished and started to filter back inside to finish setting up.

You knew you should probably head back in yourself to start getting prepped but you valued this time to yourself. Where you could relax just a bit before flipping the performer switch. You decided to take one more hit of your vape before getting ready when a truck backed out. Revealing a car you've never seen before. Did it belong to one of the crew? You doubted it considering how unique it looked. Must be hella expensive.

You weren't one to go ogle strangers vehicles but you somehow found yourself down the steps and hovering only a couple feet away.

Well since you were already here why not have a look? What's the harm?

Remembering what you were taught you kept your hands behind your back as you walked around the car. Leaning in closer to get a better look at different things.

"I've never seen something like this before." You breathed out in curiosity.

You tried to glance inside to see if the owner was watching you ogling their ride. That would've been embarrassing.

The tint was too dark to determine so you hoped you didn't just creep someone out. "Sorry for stairing." You mumbled out before backing away. Wanting one last look before you went back inside.

Just as you moved to head back up the stairs you heard the sound of a car door opening. And to your absolute dismay saw a rather handsome man step out.

"I'm so sorry for stairing." You spoke quickly fumbling over your words.

His blue eyes seemed to sparkle. "Don't worry about it. I'm sorta used to it."

"Still though." You rambled awkwardly. Taken aback by the handsome guy standing in front of you.

God did his voice have to ooze sex appeal?!

"So," you began trying to not make it more awkward than it seemed. "What are you doing back here? Are you part of the crew?"

He looked at you quizzically before he followed your line of sight to the trucks backed up towards the building.

"Nah I'm not with them." He spoke.

"Then how did you get in here? It's restricted access. Only the crew and performers are allowed back here."

"I dont know. I was trying to avoid someone and I kinda just ended up back here."

You stared at him scrutinizing. "Yeah sure that's what everyone says." It wouldn't be the first time fans have tried to sneak in through the back way.

He put his hands up in defense. "Hey I'm serious."

In a moment of idiotic bravery you lifted the brim of your hat and pulled of your sunglasses. "Then do you know who I am?" Your heart started to race.

He tilted his head and squinted. The long stare a sign he was trying to think. "Do I need to?"

Your heart nearly burst out of your chest. He didn't recognize you? Was it because you weren't wearing your stage outfit and makeup? Or was he really that clueless? You were one of the singers in a fast rising to stardom idol group. You even did solo tours. Did he really not know who you were?

Your jaw must've been on the floor by the way he staired at you weirdly.

"Sorry I don't recognize you."

You came up to him excitedly and clasped his hands not thinking. "No! No! This is great! Finally someone I can be myself in front of! Oh man I didn't think this would make me this stoked!" You had no idea how nice it was to not be recognized.

"You're welcome I guess?" He chuckled while looking a bit uncomfortable.

"Ah! Sorry sorry!" You exclaimed as you quickly dropped his hands and took a step back. Where were your manners. "Oh I never got your name!" You exclaimed. You stuck out your hand "I'm (name)."

He hesitated for a moment before clasping your outstretched hand. "Call me jack."

"Jack" You reiterated with a warm grin. You took this time to get a good look at him. He didn't appear over 35. But has traces of salt and pepper in his tousled dark hair. It was hard to tell if it was black or brown. But his eyes. Were a gorgeous shade of bright blue. He had a 5 o'clock shadow that seemed to work so well on him. And you could see scars that scattered around his arms and face.

He was just your type. Dark and handsome with a mysterious air about him. A hint of danger.

"I've been meaning to ask." He snapped you out of your thoughts. Pointing to your pocket. "What was that you had earlier?"

"Oh you mean my vape?" You asked while pulling out the little device and held it out to him.

He picked it up carefully to inspect it closer. "Interesting. Looks kinda like something I had back home." He mentioned as he handed it back to you.

"Oh you vape too?" You wouldn't be surprised if he did.

"Not quite but very close." He mused in thought as he watched you slip it back into your pocket.

"You from around here?" You queried hopeful. You really wanted to see him again. There was just something about him.

"Nah I just travel alot." He shrugged casually in response. It wasn't a lie.

You bit your lip. You knew you were being crazy. All of this is crazy. "Well I'll be in Cincinnati next week for my next performance. Maybe I'd see you there too? I could tell the security to let in the white car with the Italian livery." You didn't want this to end. You wanted to ask more questions.

He opened his mouth to speak when you heard the door open behind you and saw your manager poke their head out. "Five minutes." They warned while showing their palm to emphasize the time.

Shit how long were you out there. You didn't have much time left.

Your eyes must've been pleading because he shuffled in discomfort as you looked at him before he let out a sigh with a wry smile. "I guess it wouldn't hurt."

You did a little hop in excitement. "Yes!" You whispered your cheer. The action reminding him of another girl he knew. Maybe the two of you could get along.

You then stuck your hand out again. "I look forwards to seeing you again jack."

"Same here." He spoke as he took yours in his.

#tfp wheeljack x reader #wheeljack x reader #tfp wheeljack #wheeljack #transformers wheeljack #transformers prime #tfp #maccadam #Spotify

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starvonnie · 8 months ago

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Our Pink Living Room

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Megatron/Rodimus Additional Tags: Sticky Sexual Interfacing (Transformers), Artificial Intelligence, Angst, Androids, Post-Transformers: Lost Light 25

Also on AO3

He's not your Megatron.

Rodimus gasped as his spike met with aching ceiling nodes.

This is a lie.

Blue optics met red before shuttering closed for a vent-stealing kiss.

This isn't right.

Rodimus did everything he could to ground himself in the moment. For Primus’ sake, he was more than filled with spike—Megatron's spike—but it wasn't his.

His Megatron.

The condemned one. The dead one. The absolutely-not-alive one that couldn't be here. Couldn't be holding him.

And yet, he was.

“I love you,” the fake whispered against his lips.

Rodimus moaned before whispering back, “I love you, too.”

But what he loved was a program. AI. Just ones and zeros strung together in just the right way, with a one-to-one scale non-sentient (well… his sentience was debatable) robot. His only solace was that whatever this near-clone did, supposedly Megatron would have done, too. So maybe Rodimus had been too much of a coward to take that leap, but at least he knew his love was horribly requited.

Rodimus regretted. He regretted so much. He wished he had been braver. He wished he'd enjoyed Megatron while he'd had him. And he wished he had fought harder at his trial. Maybe if he had said the right things…

He mentally shook his helm. Interfacing. He was fucking. He shouldn't be getting sad, he should be getting railed.

Rodimus kissed him some more. He'd wanted to kiss Megatron more than anything. While Brainstorm had assured him that this Megatron would be as close to the real thing as could be, he knew deep in his spark that Megatron's lips wouldn't have been as soft and yielding. He imagined they'd be scarred and a little rough.

He couldn't really believe this wonderful lie. He talked like Megatron. Moved like him. Sounded like him. But they never bickered. Not like they used to. He was too damn agreeable. He wanted him to mock Rodimus’ garish colour choices or raise an optic ridge at the amount of sweetener he put in his morning cube. Instead, he awoke to Megatron—or this facsimile of him—having already made his morning cube. With the exact number of sweeteners he usually added.

He tried to test him.

“I don't actually like it this sweet,” Rodimus lied.

“No? I apologize. Tomorrow I will make it how you like it.”

And the stupid programming remembered, leaving Rodimus to suck down less-sweet energon until he corrected Megatron again.

It was always how he liked it again.

“Can you write me a poem?” Rodimus asked.

Megatron cocked his helm. “What would you like it to be about?”

Rodimus frowned. “Me, obviously.”

Megatron had nodded, stood, then immediately got to work on a datapad. Within a few minutes he'd completed a whole-ass poem, and it was good. Definitely in Megatron’s voice, too, but it still felt off.

Rodimus glanced at that very poem, sitting on the nightstand. He wondered if Megatron, had he loved him, would have actually written him poetry. He burned to know.

“You love fucking my valve, don't you?” Rodimus said between breathy moans.

“I love fucking you,” that damn AI corrected.

It always said exactly what he wanted to hear. Like it was reading his damn processor. He hated it.

But he couldn't live without it.

Rodimus returned home from work later that day, and Megatron was waiting. Same chair. Same energon blend. Same damn day. Over and over and over.

Frowning at the fake, Rodimus did something different. He ignored him. He walked straight to the washracks and scrubbed at his plating until it felt raw. He wanted to go back to the beginning where he was just so happy for the companionship that he didn't care that this wasn't real. That it would never be real.

Still simmering beneath the surface, Rodimus went back out to the kitchen where Megatron still waited, unmoved. It was like he was waiting to start some program.

Once again, Rodimus did something different. He grabbed some engex and took a swig straight from the bottle.

“You're drinking again?” Not-Megatron sounded concerned.

“I'm having a drink,” Rodimus corrected. “What do you care?”

“You're my conjunx.”

A flare of anger burst from Rodimus’ field. Of course, this fake never understood him in that way. “Too complicated,” Brainstorm had said when Rodimus asked about his lack of a field.

“We're not conjunx,” Rodimus said quietly.

“What? Of course we are, I lo—”

“You are not real! How could we become conjunx if i didn't initiate, huh? What could possibly put you in a bad light? You have no substance for the Act of Disclosure!”

Megatron's optics dimmed and he lowered his gaze. “Perhaps because I am not real. But I am. I am Megatron.”

“Megatron never would've let me paint the living room pink! Much less with flames around the door!”

Not-Megatron looked around, his brow creased with worry. “We can paint it another colour.”

“That's not—AARGH!” Rodimus kicked the couch. “No! You're supposed to tell me this is a hideous colour and then suggest some bland shit that's an offense to colours everywhere!”

“Maybe… beige?”

“Maybe beige? Are you serious? I lied! You'd want to paint it purple! It's always purple with you!”

Megatron stood and closed the distance between them, and Rodimus stupidly let him. “Then we can paint it purple.”

“That's not the point!” Rodimus grabbed him by the collar faring and tugged him down until they were optic-to-optic. “Fight me on it. Argue with me. We always argued!”

“Will that make you happy?”

No.

“Yes!”

Megatron frowned. “It's a hideous colour.”

Rodimus should've been embarrassed, but his horniness hit him full-throttle and he smashed his mouth against Not-Megatron’s too-pillowy lips. It wasn't long before those strong arms had whisked him away to their berthroom and Megatron was deep inside of him again, fucking him like it was his Primus-given purpose.

Except Primus had no purpose for him. Primus didn't make him. Really, he was basically just a sex robot. Which, normally, Rodimus wouldn't have a problem with, but that wasn't why he had him made.

He needed more.

The next day, while at work, he did the bare minimum and spent most of the day just thinking. He weighed the pros and cons and did some deep soul-searching to figure out what he really wanted.

His processor hurt by the end of it.

Of course, he came to the same realization he always did: he wanted Megatron. He wanted to actual mech. The one with free will who wouldn't just let him do whatever he wanted without consequence.

What finally pushed him to do it was the realization that Megatron wouldn't want this. The dead were dead and there was no way to emulate that.

Megatron didn't resist when Rodimus told him to open his chest. Where a spark should've been was nothing more than a computer compiling and spitting out data. All it took was a few snips from wire cutters for his not-conjunx to go dark and silent.

Rodimus still cried.

#megarod #megatron/rodimus #rodimus/megatron #megatron #rodimus #mtmte #lost light #valveplug #starvonnie writes #hannah dont look at this

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hbyrde36 · 3 months ago

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Caught in the Undertow

Hi, 👋 Welcome to another old fic made new again! I promise this is my last re-write, but in similar fashion to Times Like These I found myself fixated recently on giving this fic the more practiced hand it deserves. I hadn't planned on posting much about it until the full re-write was done, but with the Steddie big bang deadline rapidly approaching, it's going to take a little longer than I thought. (And being a slut for encouragement, I figured why not start sharing the first 5 redone chapters now while I work on the rest, in hopes someone will enjoy it.)

Summary:

Against all odds, Steve Harrington saved Eddie Munson from certain death. And Eddie doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forgive him for it.

Chapter One

WC: 1980 | R: Explicit | TW: Suicidal ideation/depression | Ch 1/10 | AO3

On some level, Eddie had always sort-of wanted to die.

He never planned it out, and he wouldn’t actually do anything about it—probably—but he fantasized about it a lot.

Which was maybe something he should unpack with a therapist at some point, but that type of thing wasn’t really in the budget for a kid who lived in a trailer park and sold a little weed on the side for extra cash.

Sometimes, on the really bad nights just before falling asleep, he found himself wishing, praying even, not that he really believed in such things, to just not wake up again. And deep down he knew that if he were ever faced with the opportunity to bow out, so to speak, especially in a way that wouldn’t burden anyone—bonus points for a blaze of glory—he’d take it.

The idea came to him as he was helping Dustin to climb up the sheet rope and into the safety of the right-side-up, the thumping sound of the bats throwing themselves into the sides of the trailer, trying so desperately to get in, grating on his already frayed nerves.

It had truly been the week from hell.

He was cold, dirty, and scared. Overwhelmed with the new reality he’d been forced to accept with exactly zero time to process, and having to come to terms with the fact that there’d been a whole other world existing right under his feet for fucking years, all while on the run from the cops, as well as a community calling for his head on a pike.

It left him with that all too familiar feeling—weary down to his bones in a way that no nap or good night’s sleep could ever cure.

It wasn’t even a debate in his mind.

Eddie pulled his switchblade out from one of the many pockets on the snazzy green vest Harrington had picked up for him from The Warzone, and slashed the rope, ensuring that Dustin couldn’t follow him—ensuring the kid’s safety before rushing out into the dark to lead the bats away.

Life sure was funny, he thought wryly as he mounted one of the bikes they’d left behind during their last jaunt into the Upside Down, it can take you to places you never even dreamed of, and yet you’ll still wind up exactly where you’re meant to be.

He peddled as fast as he could, trying to get the bats as far away from the gate as possible.

This was it, the chance he’d always longed for, and at least this way he could leave knowing his life meant something. His sacrifice would keep Dustin safe, keep the demobats out of their world, and buy more time for Harrington and the girls to kill Vecna.

It was a win-win.

And really, what sort of life would he be going back to anyway?

Devil worshiper, cult leader, freak, murderer. It was too many labels, too many things to overcome, just too much, the way he’d always been too much. Too loud, too different, too broken for anyone to want to get too close.

Worse—when he wasn’t busy being too much, he wasn't enough. Not smart enough, clearly. Who takes this many tries to graduate high school? Not a good enough son, if his parents dumping him on Wayne’s doorstep and never looking back was any indication.

Wayne.

Thinking of the older man caused a brief stab of guilt. Uncle Wayne would be sad when he was gone, no question. The old man wasn’t shy about his love for his only nephew, but honestly this was for the best for him too. One less thing to worry about, and one less mouth to feed. It couldn’t have been easy on his uncle all these years. Raising a kid was never easy, surely, let alone raising someone else’s, but Eddie had no doubt that he’d posed an especially unique challenge.

It wasn’t long before Eddie’s legs failed him, exhaustion making them feel like lead, slowing his pace to the point that the bats were right on his tail, the bulk of the swarm a swirling black cloud above him. One of the little fuckers peeled away from the group, swooping down to knock him from the bike. He flew over the handlebars, hitting the dirt hard, rolling several times before coming to a stop and scrambling back to his feet.

Eddie screamed his pain at the advancing hoard, banging his shield and raising it against the onslaught of gnashing teeth and beating wings.

He stood his ground.

He didn’t give up.

He fought to the very end, until he was overtaken and brought to the ground, laid out like a feast for his unsightly foe.

Later—minutes or hours he had no sense of time anymore, as he lay there dying, soaking the ground beneath him as he bled out, Eddie wondered at his own actions. It must have been a reflex, some long dormant base instinct to survive popping up at the last second, because why else would he fight so hard when it would have made more sense to not? When the writing was on the wall, when this was what he wanted?

Eddie had wanted this.

Hadn’t he?

Steve was soaring.

He was fucking ecstatic.

They did it, they’d killed Vecna.

They fucking won for once, their years-long nightmare finally over for good.

He, Nancy, and Robin smiled at each other, laughing in hysterical relief as they bounded down the crumbling old steps of the Creel house, the criss-crossing vines that decorated nearly every surface laying dead and dormant.

The walk back to Forest Hills was spent recounting every detail of their battle. Each one of Nancy’s expert shots, and every molotov cocktail that Steve and Robin had thrown. So sure he was that their little group had had the most dangerous job, save for maybe Max, it didn’t even cross Steve’s mind to worry about the others just yet. He couldn't wait to see Dustin's face, to celebrate this victory with him and the rest of the twerps.

It wasn’t until they were nearly back to the trailer that he realized something had gone terribly, horribly wrong.

He heard Dustin’s cries long before he saw him, and Steve didn’t hesitate to take off running as fast as his legs would carry him in the direction of the sound, trusting that the girls would follow.

Steve’s heart dropped when the scene finally came into view—Dustin with his head bowed, sobbing as he knelt over the lifeless body of Eddie Munson.

“What happened?” Steve asked, skidding to a stop at their side, dropping to his knees next to the younger boy.

“H-he said he was gonna buy more time. The bats started getting into the trailer and he made me go through the gate first—he made me—and then he cut the rope and then he—” Dustin's voice shook, his eyes shining and red rimmed as he raised his head to meet Steve’s gaze. “He’s gone.”

Those two words broke something inside Steve.

He couldn't allow this, wouldn’t accept it. They fucking won goddamn it. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. If any one of them wasn’t going to make it out of this place alive, it should have been him, not Eddie.

“Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Steve bent over the prone figure, listening closely for any signs of breathing while pressing his fingers to Eddie’s neck to check for a pulse. He found neither at first but didn’t let that deter him. Eddie’s skin was still warm and Steve's hands were shaking, his own heartbeat pounding so loudly in his head that it could feasibly be drowning out signs of life.

He gently nudged a still silently weeping Dustin aside and began CPR.

“What can I do?” Robin asked from his left. She and Nancy must have finally caught up, he hadn’t even heard their approach.

Steve kept an even rhythm, concentrating all his effort on his compressions as he replied. “Find something to wrap his side, I think that’s where most of the blood is coming from. Then take Dustin back through the gate and call an ambulance. I want them waiting on the other side before I try to move him.”

Robin quickly jumped into action, slipping her jacket off to remove her button down, and with Dustin’s help began working it around Eddie’s middle.

“Steve," Nancy whispered his name, carefully, gently. She was kneeling down on Eddie’s other side, her ear practically pressed to his mouth. "He’s not breathing and he’s lost a lot of blood. I’m sorry, but did he even have a pulse when you got here?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said immediately.

“Steve–”

“Just go! Please, Nance.”

Steve wasn’t sure how much time had passed when Robin finally came back, and if Dustin had put up a fuss at being made to leave, he hadn’t heard any of it. His entire focus narrowed down to his hands on Eddie’s chest, pumping, his eyes locked on Eddie’s face as he counted to thirty, the taste of blood on his lips as he administered rescue breaths.

Lather, rinse, repeat…

“The ambulance is five minutes out, how do you want to do this?”

He could have kissed her in that moment—in the most sisterly way of course.

She didn’t waste any time questioning if they should be doing this, or if Eddie’s condition had improved. Accepting that Steve had made up his mind and she was going to do everything in her power to help him make it happen.

The thing was, Steve had felt a faint tap against his fingers the last time he’d checked, and he was 99% sure Eddie did have a pulse now, even if he hadn’t before, and it could have been his imagination but he could have sworn he heard the other boy take a few shallow breaths on his own too.

Together, he and Robin hauled over a piece of discarded corrugated metal, moving Eddie onto it as gently as possible, using it like a stretcher to carry him back to the trailer.

Getting him through the gate was a bit trickier. Even more-so with the rope being cut, but Robin and Nancy had shoved a bunch of furniture under the hole in the ceiling, and Steve somehow managed to climb up the precarious tower one-handed while balancing their unconscious friend on his back.

When they made it to the other side, Steve carried Eddie in his arms all the way to the ambulance doors, insisting on riding along with them to the hospital. He must have been a sight, sweaty and out of breath, covered head to toe in muck and the other boy’s blood. The EMTs didn't even argue, except to insist Dustin come along too once they noticed his limp.

Robin and Nancy followed behind in the RV, promising to pick up the others on their way so everyone could regroup at the hospital.

Things changed drastically once they arrived at Hawkins General, and the staff realized just who their patient was. Thankfully the paramedic in the ambulance had managed to stabilize Eddie before he was recognized. Steve shuddered to think about what might have happened otherwise.

Though unconscious and in critical condition, Eddie was treated like the dangerous criminal the whole town thought he was—handcuffed to his hospital bed, and an officer posted up at his door.

No visitors allowed.

Once Dustin was released, ankle wrapped and with orders to take it easy for a few weeks, their group was asked in no uncertain terms to leave. Told that no updates would be given on the suspect's condition.

Suspect.

Steve wanted to throw up, but at least Eddie was alive.

Chapter 2

Thanks and love to @penny00dreadful and @pearynice for all your help and encouragement with this.

Permanent taglist(open): @penny00dreadful @pearynice @hitlikehammers @bookworm0690 @wonderland-girl143-blog

@goodolefashionedloverboi @themagicalari @awkwardgravity1 @rocknrollsalad

P.S. Taglist friends, I know this one might not be for everyone, if you'd prefer I not tag you in this fic pls let me know, I totally understand 💜

#this one starts out pretty sad folks #steddie fanfic #tw depression #tw sui ideation #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #stranger things #steve harrington/eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie fic #caught in the undertow #cw depression #cw sui ideation

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ovobawrites · 1 year ago

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𝐵𝑒𝒶𝒸𝒽: 𝐸𝓅𝒾𝓈𝑜𝒹𝑒 𝒮𝒾𝓍 ♡ 𝐹𝒷𝑜𝓎𝓈 𝒜𝓃𝑜𝓃𝓎𝓂𝑜𝓊𝓈

disclaimer: this has already been posted on ao3 and quotev, i'm just reposting this beach episode special as a promo for the fic. after this is all my previous author notes.

this is a fem!reader and also a half chinese!reader insert.

previous ♡ next

The rest of the dinner had consisted of the group finding more and more extreme ways to remove Lilia's 'dessert' off of their plates. Malleus and Silver, experts at this craft, had simply casted spells under the table to remove spoonfuls of the 'cake' every so often while Lilia's eyes were elsewhere. Ortho helped Idia by blasting the 'food' with micro beams of technomatic energy to give off the illusion of Idia slowly eating it. Trey simply casted his unique magic and enjoyed the dessert wholeheartedly, nevermind the fact that it tasted distinctly like candied violets and not like a red velvet cake.

You absentmindedly spinned the dainty silver spoon in your hand as you debated the merits of merely excusing yourself from dinner with 'monthly problems' as the root cause. On one hand, there'd be no need to eat the most poisonous creation you'd ever seen. On the other, having a bunch of awkward eye contact and boys trying to 'help' with offerings of chocolate and the like was not on your agenda for this vacation. You continued to spin your cutlery as you watched Trey take pity on Riddle and Cater enough to help them out, just as Jamil finished faking his test for poison and proclaimed the dessert contained a certain food dye additive that Kalim was totally allergic too. And in fealty to his master, Jamil too would not partake in the cake.

Vil and Rook already had the excuse of watching their figures to avoid partaking in dessert, an excuse that Lilia took at face value, promising to use less oil to reduce trans fat next time he makes a cake. The question, of course, was how much oil was Lilia putting in his cakes before? From a glance at Silver's face, way too much. It does explain the yellow liquid with suspended droplets of red that flowed out of the moist yet dry mass in front of you.

Leona had already conked out, declaring that he only eats meat and will never partake in a food that contains 'herbivore products' whatever that meant. Ruggie, meanwhile, was eating the food with gusto, gladly eating Leona's portion as well. You could guess why, starvation had a knack for making one distinctly more appreciative of food. Even if Lilia's cooking was barely edible, Ruggie would still eat and enjoy it. Tragic, was it not?

Floyd and Jade had started moving their food to Azul's plate, letting the oblivious housewarden magic away their food as well as his own. From the frustrated look on Azul's face, you could guess he hadn't figured out the ruse to the game just yet.

Lilia flourished in all of you 'enjoying' his food, flushed with pride as he described the painstaking process of making the cake. "At first," he said, "I added two drops of the food colouring. But then, I realised, it was never gonna be a 'red velvet cake' without more red! So I dumped the whole bottle in." Lilia puffed his chest out, awaiting praise for correcting this foolhardy decision.

"T-that's lovely." Silver said weakly in reply. "I'm glad you corrected your mistake early on."

"And Trey didn't say a word, that sly devil." Lilia continued, wagging his finger teasingly at his cooking partner. "You were waiting for me to learn it myself, were you not?"

Trey nodded with a smile and a twitching eye. "Yep, I figured you'd realise it eventually."

Lilia guffawed at that. "I'm glad you have such respect for your elders, boy, but next time you should keep in mind that my memory is not as pristine as your own."

Lilia really needs to stop saying such mysterious things. Even if Fae age slower than humans, shouldn't he act more his 'mental age' than his physical one? Though... with his cooking I'd gladly accept dementia as its excuse.

You sighed quietly, as you decided to take the path of least resistance. You used your food to push the pile of ashes around your plate, giving an illusion of eating it. It seemed less like you weren't eating the food at all, merely picking at it slowly due to a lack of appetite. It really was too bad that Lilia wasn't a better cook.

Soon enough, the conversation petered out and you stood to dump the 'rest of' your dessert in the food waste bin. Lilia never noticed, not with his distraction and the purposeful silence of your movements. As you went to wash your dishes in the sink, more and more of the boys filed in, all having made deals or negotiations for one to do their dishes for the night.

The suds and the hot water that ran over your skin was familiar as you quickly cleaned up, casting a quick spell under your breath to dry off the dishes and put them away. As you turned around, you smiled at Ruggie and Jamil, the two of them rapidly scrubbing through the plates at a practiced pace. Not too slow to be noticed, but slow enough to get away with just a few moments to themselves. But your attention was taken away by the dark sky, signaling it was about time for you to take some time to yourself. You wanted the opportunity to check up and fix up your wards, with Idia's presence, they were likely weakened a little.

It was a habit by this point, constantly keeping an eye or two on the wards around your room. The incident was ingrained in your head, to the point where even a day where you didn't check up on them caused this debilitating feeling of fear. Another intruder in your room was something you hoped to never happen again.

(You were resigned, of course, to the truth of the matter. That it would continue to happen for as long as you were alive. This bloodline that you were born into came cursed with the constant threat of assassins, or worse. For all you could act trusting of your friends, you were never sure when, exactly, they'd come to sell you out. You just hoped it wasn't soon. Hoped to be able to enjoy this illusion of camaraderie for a little while longer.)

You quietly walked up the steps to your room, the group already dispersing amongst themselves into groups of each dorm. A distinct feeling of loneliness overcame you as you watched them separate, yet were never alone. What you would give to have that easy friendship.

There was a knock on your door at 9 o'clock in the evening, just as you were finishing up with warding your room once more.

"Who is it?" You called out, a pleasant lilt to your voice as you awaited an answer from behind the door. A quick brushstroke to finish off the character for 'warning' and you should be done for the day.

"it's Trey." A familiar voice replied.

"And Cater!" Another chimed in. "We were wondering if you wanted to play a board game with the rest of us? Apparently Jade brought monopoly with him."

"Oh, sure, I'd love to play." You stood up from your desk and made way to the door, snagging your magic pen as you opened it up. "Shall we go downstairs, then?"

"Of course!" Cater perked up and dashed down immediately.

Trey smiled softly at you and offered an arm. "My lady." He said with a chuckle and a teasing look in his eye.

You giggled in reply. "How chivalrous." You took the proffered arm and walked downstairs with him at a more sedentary pace.

"We don't have enough pieces for all of us." Jade sighed with a faked look of regret on his face, before his ever-present smile snapped back on. "It seems like we'll have to be in teams, perhaps teams of four?"

"There's eighteen of us," Riddle noted, "so teams of three would be the perfect number."

The smile on Jade's face froze over, though he continued his pleasant countenance. "Of course. I guess the dorms will be splitting up then."

"I think the dorms with three members already work out." Jamil spoke up, "So some of the groups of two will be splitting up instead."

"Rook and I claim (Y/N)." Vil said from his seat on the sofa. "Any objections?"

The glares he got from Leona and Jade were harsh enough to kill, yet they said no word in reply. Always happy to hang out with the pomefiore students, you sat sandwiched between Vil and Rook when the two shifted to make room.

"I can team up with Ruggie and Leona!" Kalim exclaimed from where he was seated, ecstatic grin on his face. "This is gonna be super fun!"

"It'd be even better with a feast..." Ruggie sighed to himself, a glint of sardonic humour in his eye.

Kalim perked up even more. "That's a great idea. Next time we have a board game night, we should make it a feast!"

Jamil sighed. "There's no way I'm making that much food for that many people in such short time Kalim."

"Great! Then I can help out!" He beamed.

"And I could as well." Lilia chimed in with a smile.

A shudder ran through the group.

"Ah... sorry Lilia..." Kalim started, "but you don't know any dishes from Scalding Sands... so..."

"I prefer to cook alone." Jamil interjected.

Lilia drooped down with a frown. "That's too bad, then."

A clap of his hands brought all eyes to Jade. "Now that the teams are sorted, shall we start choosing our pieces?"

"Oh-oh, dibs on the money bag!" Kalim moved to grab the metal piece when Ruggie revealed it in his hand with a familiar laugh. "Good job, Ruggie!" He patted the hyena beastman on the head before moving to sit back down on the floor at the feet of his team.

"Can we have the dog?" You asked politely from your place on the sofa. Jade wordlessly passed it to you, gaining a grateful smile. You turned to your teammates, wondering quietly: "Are there any strategies for monopoly?"

"Buy everything you land on and get good roles." Vil intoned. "So we should have Rook roll, since he has the best luck of all of us."

"Ah, you flatter me dear Roi du Poison." Rook said with a hand to his chest. "I'd be glad to handle the heavy work for our team. I wouldn't want to see any calluses on either of your soft hands."

Bit weird to say but I appreciate the sentiment.

"And you will handle the money." Vil looked at you. "I'll handle the talking and negotiating. If any auctions come up, I'll bet too. Got it?"

"Roger that!"

"Of course, beautiful Vil."

"Good." He leaned forwards, a competitive gleam to his eyes, "Then shall we win this game?"

"Wait- how does one even play monopoly?" Malleus wondered from his place on the couch.

Trey sighed. "This is gonna be a long night."

"A one." Lilia sighed as he moved the top hat onto another owned property. "How much do we owe you, Azul?"

Azul cackled. "Why, not too much, only 500 dollars!"

Malleus begrudgingly handed over the note to Floyd as the Octavinelle students laughed at their growing pile of money.

"This is unfair." Riddle spoke up from where his team had been sent to the floor, where 'the bankrupt should sit, so we know they're out of the game'. "Of course the board game club members will be the winning teams. We should play a better game."

"Aww, is goldfishie upset about losing so quickly?" Floyd teased with a shark-like grin. "That's too bad... maybe if you had longer arms you'd be able to make better rolls!"

Riddle slowly went red. "Is that. Another. Short joke, Floyd?" He gritted out as Trey and Cater started to coach him into calming down. Riddle only got a laugh in reply, further fanning the flames of his anger.

"We got a two and a one." Ruggie spoke up from the 'Jail' sofa. "Guess we're stuck in here for another turn."

"Good job Ruggie." Leona grinned, "We're out of the madhouse for a little longer."

"Let me out!" Kalim wailed from besides them. "I swear I did nothing wrong! I'm innocent, I swear it!"

"Kalim, this is just a game. You're not actually in jail." Jamil spoke up from his couch, bored out of his mind when Idia and Ortho were doing all the work.

"We got a lucky three!" Rook spoke up from besides you. "We escape le Roi d'Effort's tyrannical reign once more, my dear Roi et Reine."

"Good job, Rook." Vil congratulated, "But we are not out of the woods just yet."

"We don't have enough funds to reliably survive another rent from Idia's group." You murmured worriedly to him as you handed the 'banker', Trey, enough money for another house to your pink set.

"Trust me, dear, when have I ever lead this team astray?" Vil arched a perfect brow and stroked his hand through your hair in a comforting manner, smirk on his face.

"Uh oh, Azul, we got a five!" Floyd said worriedly as he looked between the board and the dice.

"I'm aware, Floyd." Azul pinched the bridge of his nose as he calculated the prices. "Jade, how is our bank looking?"

"We still have plenty of funds, sir." He reported with a smile.

"You owe us 2000 dollars." Vil interrupted. "We just added a house there."

Jade paled. "The status is dire, Azul."

"Do we need to mortgage?"

"I'm afraid we will."

"Then do so."

A wide grin came to Idia's face as he looked over the board while the Octavinelle group struggled to pay yours. "We have this W in the bag, Ortho!" He paused for a moment, before a squeak. "And Jamil! We couldn't have done this without you!"

"I did nothing."

"Which is what we needed! If I was paired with Azul we would've lost by now... he's way too much of a control freak."

"I see." Jamil frowned in thought. "Thank you, then."

"...What was that Idia?" A threatening smile. "I hope you're prepared to face the consequences of what you've said..."

"My team is plenty prepared to beat yours. We're not the ones on the verge of bankruptcy after all." Jamil grinned, always pleased to go against Azul.

"And now you've even turned Jamil against me! We just cannot let this stand, right Jade and Floyd?" Azul turned to the tweels for support as he faked heartbreak from Jamil's cruel words.

"Nah. I'm bored." Floyd said, examining his nails before deciding to go back to teasing Riddle until he exploded again.

"LOL even your team doesn't want to help you!" Idia laughed, manic grin on his face. "Ortho, roll a five for us if you'd please."

"...It's a seven."

"Goddamnit."

It's been three hours since the group started playing monopoly, with no end in sight to the horrors off the game. For all you tried to end it, only one other group has gone bankrupt since.

"Finally, we're done for!" Ruggie sighed, relieved to be done with the game and to go to bed.

"Next time you should roll better." Leona glared. "We were this close to winning."

Ruggie looked at the other four groups still in the running and back to Leona, unimpressed.

"I think we did super well anyways! We weren't the first group out and that's all that matters!" Kalim piped in, trying to diffuse the tension.

"Eh, whatever." Leona yawned before going up the steps to his bedroom.

"Wh- Leona, aren't you gonna help clean our stuff up?" Ruggie yelled after him, and with the lack of reply, he groaned and went to pack the group's stuff up.

"I think I'll stay up." Kalim said to him. "I wanna see Jamil win!"

"Kalim... I doubt we're gonna be the winners at this rate." Jamil shook his head, the group funds of Ignihyde + Jamil and Octavinelle being significantly diminished since they declared war on each other.

"Shut up Jamil! We're gonna beat that stupid octopus into the ground, got it?!" Idia hissed, muttering calculations and win rates to Ortho as he surveryed the board with a manic look in his eyes.

Vil rolled his eyes. "This game will be way too long. Let's just-"

"NO FORFIETS ALLOWED!" Both Azul and Idia yelled at the same time, wanting to win 'fair and square', whatever that meant.

You tapped Vil on the shoulder and whispered a question to him. "Can I nap for a bit on your shoulder? I'm very much tired but... we can't exactly go to bed now." You shrugged with a weary smile.

"Whatever." He sighed in reply, and didn't say a word as you leant your head against his shoulder and with soft breaths as you drifted off to sleep.

You were still asleep when the game ended. Idia and Azul burnt each other out of the game, both throwing fits and arguing with each other as they went back to their rooms. Kalim, who had drifted off during the long game, was carried up to their shared room by Jamil with a groan off annoyance. Diasomnia somehow ended up winning despite the team only learning the rules a few hours ago.

Rook spoke up as Jade finished packing up the pieces. "Roi du Poison, I can always carry our dear Reine des Cygnes up the stairs if you'd rather go to sleep as soon as possible."

Vil shook his head. "It's fine, I can carry (Y/N) up myself." He merely glared at Rook when his vice housewarden gave a smug smile in reply. "Don't say a word."

"I won't!" He grinned.

"And don't look at me like that!"

"Like what?"

Vil didn't deign him with a reply and instead picked you up in a bridal carry to get to your room on the second floor. Worryingly, as he did so, you started to stir. His quiet and gentle movements didn't encourage you to go back to sleep, instead it merely woke you up as the two of you reached the top step.

You jolted in his arms. "I- Vil?!"

"What." He said flatly.

"Did you-" You spoke haltingly, tired and disoriented. "carry me up the stairs?"

Vil arched a brow. "Do you have a problem with that?"

You glanced away. "It's just that... you didn't have to go through the trouble, waking me up would suffice. I'm sorry for the bother."

"It was no bother at all." Vil's eyes pierced you as he continued to hold you up steadily. "If I wanted to wake you up, I would have done so. I don't mind doing this much for you." A rare smile graced his face as he looked upon you. "You are... precious to me, after all."

And with that, he set you down gently and walked down the stairs to his room, leaving you frozen in place. As you registered his words, a bright flush marked your cheeks. You hid your face behind your hands for a moment and sighed ever so quietly. Your heart thumped and a sea of butterflies flooded your stomach.

You wondered what that feeling was as you tucked yourself into bed for the night.

Mini Theatre Jade, packing a monopoly board in his luggage: I can't wait to be on a team with my three favorite people! I'd love to play monopoly with (Y/N)! Vil and Riddle: Allow us to introduce ourselves. Leona: I WANTED TO TEAM WITH HER DAMMIT NOW I'M WITH KALIM. Jamil: ...Finally... freedom...

and here is the sixth part of the beach ep. if you'd like to read the rest of the fic, you can read it on ao3 here, and on quotev here.

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ditzyredrobin · 4 months ago

Text

Shrike Chapter One

Alright! Here she is!

I debated making this the full 4,000+ words but decided, ultimately, this was best for the flow.

In the future, unless there’s a demand for it, I might just stick to Ao3 for full chapters and continue to post snippets here. We’ll see, though.

Thank you so much for waiting! I hope you enjoy it as much as I have. 🥰💜

He’s not sure which to classify as more bizarre--the fact that, out the 10 million people in Gotham, Dick Grayson was the one to find him (as in The Flying Graysons Dick Grayson), or the fact that if was Dick Grayson, out of the mask and into his civies. Because both options were less than ideal.

Tim blinked once, twice, trying to clear the fuzzies along with the Dick Grayson shape hallucination from his vision. Because this? This wasn’t happening.

Dick’s right index and middle fingers were pressed against the pulse point on the inside of his wrist, his brow furrowed. His expression softened noticing Tim had opened his eyes.

“Hey, I was starting to get a little worried there for a second.” His voice was soft and easy, similar to the voice he heard used on small children while in the mask. “My name is Dick--can you tell me yours?”

His fingers were warm against the soft skin, strange for their fourth day of low twenties. It was mid January in Gotham and the ground was covered in a blanket of slushy snirt.

Tim groaned.

Every nerve in his body screamed to run, find his backpack and get out of there, like, yesterday, but his body didn’t seem to get the memo.

His everything ached, borderline worse than his first accidental run in with Killer Croc, fleeing the scene of a heist well done. The sewers weren’t his favorite but they had been an easy exit point from the Natural History museum in downtown Gotham.

Waylon had only served to reinforce it (being belly rolled by a croc—so not his idea of a good time.

They were fine now (mostly). He just kept to the rooftop highway, and Waylon stuck to the sewers. It worked but damn did his leg still ache right before it rained.

When Tim didn’t answer, Dick continued with, “You don’t have to worry about anything, you’re safe now. I just need you to keep your eyes open until the ambulance gets here, okay?”

Aaaand he was awake.

Tim tried to pull his hand away from Dick’s, grimacing at the movement as a new wave of fuck, that hurt, washed over him. “Can’t.”

Dick didn’t fight him on it, letting go immediately, “Easy, try not to move around too much. I can’t tell how deep the stab wound is with my flashlight. I don’t think it looks too terrible but we don’t want to do anything until you can get properly checked out.”

“No ambulance,” Tim says this time, a little firmer. “I can’t go to the hospital.”

Dick’s head tilted to the side just a hair. “I know it’s not fun but you should really get checked out. You really need stitches and antibiotics to keep things from getting worse.” He explained carefully, to which Tim tries to hold back the eye roll. “I’m an EMT but there’s only so much I can do without my gear.”

What part of I-don’t-need-an-ambulance are you not getting?

He didn’t need an ambulance. What he needed was to get back to his safe house, stitch his side up, and sleep for the next six hours. He might be able to fit in eight if he really pushed it. He definitely deserved it.

It had been a long, long night.

“I appreciate the concern but I can’t. I just need to get home and I’ll be fine.” Tim’s voice was hoarse, but crisp. He knew what he needed and this wasn’t it.

Dick’s frown deepened. “I know how much hospitals suck but you’re bleeding. A lot. I can’t in good conscience let you just leave you on your own. Not like this.”

Tim stared at him for a long moment. His vision was beginning to clear up but shadows still loomed around the edges. “I don’t need your help. I had it covered before you got here.”

Dick raised a skeptical eyebrow, “If you don’t get stitches, there’s a chance you could bleed out or get an infection. This is really serious.”

“I’m fine,” Tim repeated, trying to get a hand under him and push up.

Dick wasn’t having it, though, and pressed a hand to his shoulder, effectively pinning him back against the wall of the alley, where he had slumped over. The sun had gone down, leaving them in the dark.

It smelled like rotten fish sticks and back alley sludge.

At least he hadn’t ended up in a dumpster again—because that had been embarrassing, for both he and the driver that found him.

He didn’t remember going down, or even where he had gone down. Except—Tim sucked in a breathing, running his hand down his front expecting Kevlar and nomac weave, which was bad—like, really bad.

Except somehow, some way, he wasn’t in his bodysuit. He was dressed in a Blink-182 hoodie and snow-damp jeans, all tied together with a pair of scuffed up Chucks. Not practical for snow and ice but better than being found out by one of Gotham’s vigilantes.

“Stop moving around so much, please. It’s only going to make things worse.” Dick argued gently.

Now Tim really did roll his eyes. “I can’t go to the hospital. I’ve had worse and come out just fine. I’ll survive.”

He would and he had. Much, much worse.

He’d been at this since he was sixteen when he’d learned how to suture from YouTube videos before his first sensei. He had been stabbed, poisoned and damn near decapitated on one very unfortunate occasion, and he was fine.

He’d get over it.

“Just because you have doesn’t mean you shouldn’t go now.” Dick said seriously, not moving his hand even when Tim tried to shrug it off.

“What part of I can’t aren’t you hearing?” Tim snapped back. “Look, I haven’t done anything wrong so you can’t hold me in a citizen’s arrest.”

Dick sighed, “I know that. Just give me one reason why you shouldn’t go to the hospital—I know people who can help.”

Tim ignored him. He didn’t have time for this he needed…he needed-

“My backpack! Have you-” Tim said suddenly, his heart slamming to a halt. He tried to sit up quickly and regretted it immediately when his vision started to blackout again.

“Woah, woah, woah, slowdown,” Dick begged, serving as the only thing to keep him from falling all over himself. Carefully, without jostling Tim more, he reached over and moved his backpack so it was beside his lap. “It’s right here, safe and sound.”

Tim instinctively reached out, running his hand over the waterproof canvas. Good. It was safe and hopefully unopened because that sitch would be a nightmare and a half to handle.

As it was now, Dick (Nightwing) just being here had a chance to ruin everything.

Out of 10 million people, seriously.

“Will you let me call an ambulance now?” Dick pleaded, eyes sharp and worried.

Tim opened his eyes (not realizing he’d closed them in the first place) and glared at Dick. “I already told you, I can’t, okay? If you call, I will ruin your credit. Trust me. I know people.”

Well, he knew himself and it had been a hot minute since he’d been able to have a little fun.

Dick’s eyebrows shot up, “You don’t even-“

“Know who you are?” Tim cut off. “Dick Grayson-Wayne, son of billionaire Bruce Wayne. Please, everyone in Gotham knows you.”

Dick grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, I guess you do know who I am. I still don’t know who you are, though.”

“And you don’t need to.” Tim supplied.

When Dick frowned, his eyebrows drew together, “Are you in some sort of trouble? The hospital has resources and systems in place, if you are. They’ll help you figure something out.”

Tim sighed hard, “I’m not in trouble. I just don’t have insurance, alright? I can’t afford to go to the hospital.”

It was a reasonable excuse taking into account the corporate hellscape that was the American healthcare system (or, lack thereof). The lie was more believable for a myriad of other reasons, those including, he shouldn’t actually be alive right now. In fact, there's a family burial plot in Bristol with his name on it.

So, yeah, a can of worms he didn’t particularly take joy in opening right this second, especially not with one of Gotham’s most fearsome vigilantes.

Dick’s worried expression softened, “I didn’t realize, I’m sorry.”

Tim had to fight the urge to roll his eyes again. It was rich coming from the son of the richest man in Gotham. “I don’t need an apology, I don’t need a hospital, I just need to go home, okay?”

Dick sighed, looking conflicted, “The hospital has financial resources to help offset cost, when needed. I have friends there, I can make sure you get help.”

And it definitely didn’t have anything to do with a wing of the hospital having the Wayne family name plastered on it.

“Please, just, stop.” Tim snapped. He was exhausted, in pain, and cranky, and this was putting him over the edge. “Look, I know you just want to help but not everyone needs your help, okay?”

Dick flinched and the part of Tim that had once been Dick Grayson’s number one fan shriveled a little. A cold wave of shame washed over him, but he held firm, staring him down with a hard expression. It was exactly the reaction he intended but that didn’t make it feel a little guilty.

Little fanboy Tim would have died.

Once upon a time, he had looked up to him, Batman’s first Robin. But things changed, dreams died, and no one had come to save Tim Drake—not Robin, not Batman, and certainly not Nightwing.

Dick’s grip loosened on Tim, making it a little easier to try and get to his feet. He managed to wrap his numb fingers around the strap of his backpack and push up with the other and—

He was on the ground again.

This time, on his side, breathing heavily, and shaking. The pavement was cold and solid against his cheek while the world was twisting and turning around him.

Dick was talking but it all came out muffled, like cotton was stuffed in his ears. His tongue felt too thick in his mouth making it hard to form words.

The burning sensation from the nick just below his ribs burned white hot while with pressure being held on the wound.

Tim let out an embarrassing keening noise, closing his eyes again. “I know, I’m sorry.” Dick said softly, but didn’t let up on the pressure. “You’re bleeding too much. You need help.”

“No hospitals.” Tim hissed through his teeth, although his words were slurred. It was debatable whether they were intelligible or not.

“I know, I have a plan.” Dick said but didn’t elaborate upon said plan.

He’s not sure how long they sit there—Dick taking and Tim lying in the waves of pain, radiating from the gash caused by a rogue batarang.

It hadn’t even been meant for him—just a wrong place, wrong time sort of sitch. He should have been faster, should have been paying more when it hit the hvac and rebounded, slicing him.

It made quick work of cutting through his uniform (and would be a major pain to stitch up later).

Headlights illuminated the alley even as it was put in park and heavy boots hit the pavement. “I thought we talked about this, Dickie? No more bringin’ home strays, yeah?”

Tim’s heart came to a sudden, painful, halt. That voice—even without the modulator—

“I know, it’s, uh, a long story and I’m just out of options.”

Jason Todd—Red Hood—scoffed, coming to crouch down beside Dick, in front of him, his boots level with Tim’s view. They were well-worn, steel-toed boots that crushed through the thin sheet of ice. “That’s what you said last time.” He argued with no real heat. “Hey kid, still awake?”

“‘m not a kid.” Tim tried to argue, earning him a laugh.

“You sure look like a kid to me. What are you? Twelve?”

“Twenty three.” Tim corrected.

“Yeah, no, good try but you look about twelve to me. You gotta name, kid?”

And we’re back at this game again. Great.

“Maybe.”

“That’s not good enough. You can give me a name or I call EMS and you and the cops can figure it out. So, try again. What’s your name?”

“Jay,” Dick warned.

“Richard,” Jason repeated back in the same tone and Tim could almost hear the eye roll in his voice. “If he wants help, he’s gotta give a little too. I’m not going to compromise our house for some twerp. So what’s it gonna be kid? A name or the cops?”

He paused to consider. Although honestly there really isn’t much to consider. A name or the cops.

Nightwing is one thing but pinned down between Red Hood and Nightwing while trying to pretend you’re an average Joe is another.

He had a name—he had many, but at the moment, trying to find one was like grasping at air. Nothing tangible wanted to stick. Alvin Draper wasn’t a choice after his heist in Berlin, Caroline Hill wasn’t appropriate in this scenario-

“Cal,” Tim finally managed, slower than he would have liked.

Hood—Jason—made a satisfied noise. “You got a last name, Cal?”

“Do I have to?”

“Do I have to?” Jason mocked. “Yes, you have to. You know the deal—you want our help, you’ve got to give a little in return.”

Tim glared which only serves to egg on Jason’s attitude, Jason smirked.

“Cococran.” It takes him a beat longer than he would have liked to fish for the name. But things like blood loss and sleep dep decide to make things difficult.

Sue him.

“Alright, Cal, you in trouble or somethin’?”

“Jay-“ Jason holds up his hand to cut of Dick.

“I’m serious, kid. Are you in trouble?” Jason repeats, watching Tim with a hard, unreadable expression.

Tim grit his teeth, locking eyes with him. “…no.”

Jason didn’t respond for a long moment, searching his expression. “Fine,” he grunted, turning back to Dick. “You couldn’t ’ve called Leslie, could you?”

Dick sighed. “I know but just look at him.”

Jason rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, you and B and your whole bighearted shitck, I get it. But after this, nu-uh, I mean it. This is the last time, seriously.”

Dick smiled softly at him and then it was time to get to work.

Halfway through peeling the hoodie away and plastering a wound dressing to his side and being shoved in the back seat with Dick, things get hazy, and he’s out.

#tim drake #jason todd #my writing #my fics #dick grayson #jaydicktim #batman #dickjaytim #jaytim #shrike!tim #shrike verse #former rogue!tim #over 2000 words #tim drake was never robin #rated m

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trulybetty · 1 month ago

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october | 16 x flying kites

pairing: frankie x f!reader word count: 1,371 warnings: none, as always un-beta'd. summary: Frankie comes clean. ao3: linked

{ x. series masterlist }

author note: prompts are not in chronological order, the story is told throughout the life span of the relationship. once all are posted, I'll post a list of the prompts in chronological order.

16 x Flying Kites.

The early evening sun cast a golden hue over the ocean, the waves gently lapping at the shore. You stepped out onto the deck, a half-empty cup of coffee cooling in your hand. You scanned the horizon, inhaling the salty air. The house was quiet—too quiet—Frankie had been nowhere to be found.

Setting your coffee down, you walked through the yard to the fence that bordered the beach. Beyond it, you spotted him—a solitary figure sitting on the sand, his gaze fixed on the distant skyline where the sea met the sky. A soft breeze carried the distant laughter of children, and as you looked further down the beach, you saw them flying kites that danced against the clear sky.

You made your way down the wooden steps, the sand cool beneath your feet. Frankie didn’t turn as you sat beside him, the two of you in a comfortable silence, the kind that had become rare lately. His eyes remained on the horizon. You tugged the sleeves of your sweater to cover your hands, and as you did you stole a glance at his profile. His jaw was tight, eyes shadowed beneath the brim of his worn baseball cap—the one you’d given him years ago.

“Looks like they’re having fun,” you remarked softly, nodding toward the children.

“Yeah,” he replied, his voice barely audible over the surf, “Reminds me of when I was a kid”

You waited, resisting the urge to fill the silence, to give him the space sensing he had more to say.

“My dad used to take me kite flying,” he continued, “We’d come out to places like this, just the two of us. Not a care in the world.”

You offered a small smile, he always spoke fondly of his father, “Sounds lovely.”

He took a deep breath, the weight of unspoken words heavy, “I haven’t been fair to you,” he admitted, his eyes still fixed on the ocean.

You nodded slowly, a knot forming in your stomach. “Okay.”

He took a deep breath, still not looking at you. “Colombia wasn't just a consulting job,” he confessed, “at least it started off as one. But Santiago…” he trailed off as if he could hear your jaw tense at the sound of his friend's name, “he had this idea, make some money and do some right by the people being affected by the ones he was trying to bring down.” he continued when he realized you weren’t going to interrupt with your usual tirades when it came to Santiago.

You felt your chest tighten but remained silent, urging him to continue.

“Santiago had it planned,” he began, his words measured. “He’d found the source of issues—drugs, but local law enforcement was being paid off and the people were no better. Pope thought we could take out the head of the snake and... take his money. Make it a better place and secure our futures.”

You swallowed hard, you weren't naive. You knew the kinds of missions Delta Force undertook and had pieced together bits about Santiago's activities in Colombia. But hearing it confirmed was different—especially from Frankie.

“It was supposed to be quick and clean,” he continued. “In and out. No one was supposed to get hurt.”

He paused, his hands clenching into fists in the sand. “But things didn't go as planned. We... we took more than we should have. The helicopter couldn't handle the weight, I said I could do it.”

Your eyes drifted to his hands, knuckles white. The distant sound of children laughing seemed jarringly out of place.

“We crashed,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “Then we were followed, that’s when Tom—” he paused as if debating to lay out the whole truth, “that’s when we lost Tom.” you didn’t need to know more to be able to piece it together.

A sharp intake of breath caught in your throat at the idea of how easily it could have been Frankie. You blinked rapidly, trying to process the information. Frankie finally turned to look at you, his eyes glassy. “We tried to get the money out on foot, over the mountains,” he let out a bitter laugh, “but we lost most of it, barely made it out alive. And for what? Greed? Stupidity?”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. The air felt thick and heavy with unspoken emotions. You reached out instinctively, your hand hovering above his before settling back in your lap. You were frozen, the reality of his words sinking in. The man beside you was both familiar and suddenly a stranger, burdened by secrets and guilt.

“I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner,” he whispered. “I didn't know how.”

You took a shaky breath, finally finding your voice. “Why now?”

He sighed deeply. “I thought… maybe if I kept to myself, I could protect you from it, but all I’ve done is fuck things up further.”

“Are we safe?” you said, suddenly panicked.

Frankie nodded his head, “There’s nothing tying us there. We took care of that.”

You looked out at the horizon, where the sun was beginning its descent, casting hues of pink and orange across the sky. “I knew Santiago was involved in dangerous things,” you said softly. “I’ve always known you’ve done things you couldn't talk about. But I never imagined…”

Your words trailed off, swallowed by the sound of the waves. Frankie removed his cap, running a hand through his hair, you wondered when you’d failed to notice how much longer it’d gotten.

“If you want me to leave…” he began.

You shook your head slowly, finally turning to meet his gaze. “No. I just... I don’t know, I need time to process this.”

He nodded, a flicker of relief crossing his features. “I understand.”

Silence settled between you once more, but it was different now—heavy with a shared burden. The children down the beach cheered as one of the kites soared higher, its vibrant tail fluttering triumphantly. The simple joy of it was almost surreal against the gravity of your conversation.

“I always imagined bringing our own kids here someday,” he admitted quietly.

You felt a void in your chest, your mind playing a movie of the life that you’d pictured here fading away as another silence fell between you.

“No more reccies,” your voice was quiet, but your words were firm.

He looked up at you, the weight of your words settling between you, a line drawn in the sand, “No more reccies.” he echoed.

You stood up slowly, brushing the sand from your clothes. “I’m going inside,” you said with a finality that left no room for argument.

He looked up at you, a mixture of resignation and sadness etched across his face, “Okay.” he replied, his voice barely audible over the sound of the waves.

Turning away, you made your way back toward the house, each step feeling heavier than the last. You needed space—time to process everything he’d just told you. You felt nauseous at the revelation of what had gone down in Colombia. This was so much more than any of the other jobs he’d taken on in the past. This wasn’t something that could be fixed with a simple conversation or a promise.

Inside, the quiet of the house enveloped you. You leaned against the closed door, taking a deep breath as you tried to steady your racing thoughts. The familiar surroundings felt strangely foreign, shadows from the setting sun stretching across the floor.

You walked to the kitchen, pouring yourself a glass of water with unsteady hands. The cool liquid did little to ease the rising lump in your throat. Setting the glass down, you caught sight of a photo on the fridge—a candid of you and Frankie laughing, arms wrapped around each other.

For a brief moment you wanted to go back to that moment, to the Frankie and you of then. But it didn’t silence the voice inside your head, the one that told you that there were issues there too, smaller ones that laid the foundation for where you were now, and now, well you weren’t sure you could brush it aside as well as you had before.

#frankie morales #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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multifandomfanficss · 1 year ago

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Home Is Wherever You Are P2

Adrian Chase/Vigilante x Reader

With a very heavy emphasis on platonic!Christopher Smith/Peacemaker

Part 1, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Adrian Chase Masterlist

Prompt: You take Adrian, Gut, and Chris school shopping. It might be harder to keep the timeline in tact than you originally thought.

Warnings: mentions of/implied child abuse, panic, meltdown, crying, divorce, mentions of August Smith, cannon typical Peacemaker violence and language, homophobia

A/N: I’ve decided to start with biweekly updates! I’m post on Saturday and Wednesday. I’ll also be posting on my new AO3 adriansglasses. I’ve actually added all of my old work there as well. Hope you guys enjoy!

“You’re the most attractive person I’ve seen in my entire life.” Adrian smiles at you.

“Shut up. No, I’m not.” You blush hiding your face from your boyfriend.

“Don’t hide.” He pushes your hands away from your face. “Please don’t hide your pretty face. It’s like the prettiest face I’ve ever seen and even if it wasn’t- which would be totally absurd like have you even seen yourself? You’re so hot- anyway more to the point. Your personality is so attractive to me that you’re automatically that much hotter. That’s just math babe. Do two wrongs make a right?” You laugh at his comparison. To someone else that may not make sense, but to many people Adrian never made sense. To you, he always made perfect sense.

“You’re too nice to me.” You say smiling at him.

“Well you’re the only one who’s nice to me sometimes period and your pain in the ass loves you very much.” He kisses you.

“I never said you were a pain in the ass!” You laugh. He gives you a look.

“Okay, I may have said it once or twice, but I didn’t mean it. I was just teasing you.” You kiss him on the cheek as he holds you close.

“It’s okay. I know I’m annoying and hard to deal with sometimes.” You turn his face to look directly in your eyes so he knows you’re serious.

“Not to me.”

September 1st, 1994

You woke up to the sound of the chunky alarm clock on the nightstand. You could hear somebody cooking downstairs. You used the bathroom and made your way to the kitchen to find Diane making breakfast.

“Morning! I’m running a little later than usual this morning, so all I could really manage was toast and eggs. Hope that’s okay.” She gave you a sympathetic smile.

“That’s more than okay. I usually skip breakfast half the time anyway.” You admit.

“You shouldn’t do that. Adrian’s always trying to skip breakfast. He doesn’t like most breakfast foods. I’ve been trying to make sure he eats more of them.” You have to bite back a comment about how his future self is still just as annoyed by the concept. You think back to all his rants about how breakfast doesn’t make sense because it’s foods you can only eat in the morning. He was always annoyed that he couldn’t order pancakes at dinner time or a burger for breakfast unless he was in a diner. It just didn’t make sense to him. ‘What?! Suddenly diners don’t have to follow the rules?! It’s all just a bullshit societal construct!’ You could hear his voice now.

“You could have called me down to help.” You say as the food sizzles in the pan.

“You were sleeping. You had a long day yesterday. I need your help with something while I’m at work anyway.” She says, turning to take the toast out of the toaster.

“What can I do for you?” You ask without debate. She’s helped you a lot and she is Adrian’s mom after all. You never thought you’d get to meet her outside of an ouija board. It’s the least you can do in your current situation.

“I have an envelope in my room for you with back to school money in it. It’s mostly just tip money I’ve been saving up from the restaurant. If you could bring the boys into town to get school clothes that would be wonderful. Adrian needs a little bit of everything. He just went through a big growth spirt. Dorian mostly needs new sneakers, but he should get a pair of jeans and maybe a couple shirts. There’s enough money in there to get a few things for Chris because God knows his father won’t do it. There should also be a little leftover if you want to get anything for yourself.” She says, beating the eggs.

“For me?” You question.

“You showed up with no clothes. You can have some of my old clothes, but I doubt you have the style of a divorced mom with two and a half kids. You should get one or two things you actually like.” She laughs.

“No, Diane I- I couldn’t-“

“Yes, you can and you will. This is basically just payment for the nannying gig.”

You smile at her. “Okay, fine. Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

After cooking breakfast and saying goodbye to the boys, Diane was off to the office for the day. She was a secretary at a nearby law firm. Waitressing was only her second job to help pay the bills after her husband left for another man.

“Dorian, do you know where Adrian’s shoes are?” You ask as you chase Adrian around the living room, trying to get him ready to leave. He had so much energy. You couldn’t say you were surprised.

“That’s not my name.” He sat there with his face in his gameboy, barley giving you the time of day. He was just radiating 12 year old angst. Honestly you couldn’t blame him. He was 12, Chris was 13, and they were both about to enter 7th grade. That’s hard enough on its own. It’s probably a lot harder when your mom is asking you to help look after your 3 year old brother because your dad just left because he’s gay. It’s 1994 in Evergreen, Washington and his best friend’s dad is the biggest homophobe in the country. None of this must be easy on him.

“What do you wanna be called?” You ask. He tears his eyes away from his gameboy to give you a look. It’s almost like nobody’s ever asked him or cared for his opinion.

“Gut.” He answers.

“Yeah that’s a much cooler name. My dad says Dorian is a pansy name.” Chris says, continuing to channel surf.

“Christopher Smith that is not nice and will not be tolerated when I’m around. Understand?” You know you can’t tell him his dad is wrong. You know if he challenges his dad now he might not make it back alive, so you hold your tongue for now.

“You can’t tell me what to do.” He huffs.

“Actually, as your babysitter, I can.” You turn to Gut. “Okay Gut, where’s your brother’s shoes?” You try again.

“By the door, under the bench.” He informs you.

“Thank you.” You smile, bringing Adrian to sit on the bench, so you can put on his shoes. There’s two pairs under the bench. You lift them up for him to choose between. One pair has dinosaurs on them and the other pair lights up. He very excitedly points at the light up ones. You can’t get him to sit still long enough to put on the shoes, so eventually you inevitably drop one.

“Motherfucker!” Adrian exclaims in his loud toddler voice.

“Adrian!” You say in shock. You want to laugh because this is so him, but you don’t wanna be blamed for this one. He’s only 3. He giggles at your reaction of the forbidden word.

“Motherfucker!” He says it again in a fit of giggles.

“Buddy, you can’t say that. That’s a grownup word. If you say it too many times you have to go to work and pay taxes.” You try to persuade him against the word.

“What’s taxes?” He asks.

“Taxes are what grown ups have to pay to people. They give a lot of money that you don’t have, so you shouldn’t say that word. Also not paying is a crime. I don’t wanna pay taxes, so I’m not gonna say it.” You try to bargain with him using toddler logic.

“But Dor and Chris say it!” He objects.

“Well, Dor and Chris are gonna have to pay taxes soon.” Adrian begins to cry. “Why are you crying, buddy?” You wipe his tears.

“I’m scawred!” He cries.

“Of what?” You ask.

“Taxes!” He cries.

“It’s okay. You didn’t say it enough times to have to pay taxes.” You pull his small, hiccuping body into your arms, not quite sure what to do. You feel kinda bad. Parenting is fucking hard. They say never parent your boyfriend, but you were taking it to a whole new level. You don’t think this is what they meant.

Finally you had wrangled the boys together and you were on your way to the store. You had to walk because Diane had the car at work and you obviously didn’t have one, but the store wasn’t far.

“Why do we have to walk? This is fucking stupid.” Chris complained.

“Chris, knock it off. We’re at the repeating age.” You gesture to Adrian, who was jumping around the cracks on the sidewalk. Luckily he wasn’t paying attention.

“Hey, Adrian!” Chris grabs his attention.

“Chris!” Adrian runs up to him, on his wobbly little legs.

“Don’t you fucking dare-“ The words came out of your mouth before you even had the chance to realize it.

Gut laughs. “You’re the one who actually said fuck in front of him.”

“Fuck!” Adrian repeats.

“No no no no no!” You try to stop him.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” He says as he hops up and down with each fuck.

“No! I said…duck! I said duck!” Gut and Chris break into a fit of laugher.

“Rey’s lying, Adrian.” Gut tells him. Adrian stops giggling and his entire body language changes. He starts to cry, trying to walk away. His little legs don’t carry him very far. You turn to Gut and Chris.

“Please just stop! I just wanna get through the day. Would it kill you to just be nicer to him?!” You don’t mean to lose your temper with the boys, but you know this is only the start to a lifetime of bullying and provoking Adrian. You sigh, dropping your attitude. They’re all just kids. “Stay here for a minute.” You turn in Adrian’s direction and start racing after him.

You try to scoop his little body into your arms, but he screams at you. “NO! NO!” Okay. He’s not great with words, but he totally has no down. You decide to give him some space. Even if he’s not his adult self yet, he’s still a person. You know how easily overwhelmed he gets as an adult. You can’t imagine how upset his 3 year old self is.

“Buddy, I’m really sorry.” You apologize. Your heart breaks. You hate knowing you made him cry.

“P-p-pweas don’t weave!” He begs you not to leave through his tears.

“Hey…what’s going on? Why do you think I’m gonna leave?” You question him.

“Daddy lied to m-mommy and now he’s not here!” Adrian cries. Oh fuck. Of course he couldn’t fully grasp that his father had an affair and that’s why he’s gone.

“Adrian, listen to me. I will never leave you for something like that. I’m sorry I lied to you. Lying isn’t nice, but I’m here for you. I will always be there for you. Even if I’m not here with you, right next to you, I promise I will always love you.” You try to keep yourself from crying now. You can’t help, but think of your version of Adrian at home without you. You try to keep your tears in and stay strong for the younger version of the man you love right in front of you. They feel like different people, but they’re not. This is Adrian and you need to help him.

“Lying isn’t nice!” Adrian repeats, sniffling as his tears slow.

“You’re right. It’s not. Do you want a hug or do you not want to be touched?” You ask.

“Hug!” He cries, crashing into your open arms. You hold his little body as he cries.

“Even if you can’t see me, I’ll always be with you. I love you.” Everything about this is so fucked up. You shouldn’t even be here. You’re messing with Adrian’s life. You’re messing with Chris’ life. Everything about this feels so wrong, but when he’s crying in your arms like this all you can think about is the restless nights when you’d cuddle with your boyfriend and he’d shed a tear or two about his childhood. You knew how much it effected him even now and you just wanted to protect him from all that was to come and heal all that had already happened, but you knew you couldn’t do that. Time had to run its course.

After you helped baby Adrian collect himself you joined Chris and Gut back on the sidewalk and continued your way to the store. Town was small, so the walk wasn’t long, but luckily you had a new Walmart nearby. In your day this Walmart was shitty, but in 1994 it was new. You let Gut and Chris walk around on their own with the promise they’d meet you in the men’s clothing section. You were going to take Adrian to the toddler section. Toddler clothes were cheaper and he was growing fast, so you picked out a couple different outfits for him. You grabbed some basic pants and socks that would match everything and let him pick his own shirts. He settled on a shirt with a spaceship on it that said ‘I’m so cute it’s out of this world’. He also picked a Barney shirt and an Aladdin shirt after making a comment on how both Jasmin AND Aladdin were pretty. You then brought him to your side of the clothing department to grab a shirt or two you liked before meeting up with the boys. After settling on some basic shirts, you were on your way to meet Chris and Gut when you passed the electronic isle and you caught Chris staring at a tape recorder. Even from a distance you could tell he was about to cry as he put it back on the shelf. Gut was nowhere to be seen, probably waiting in the men’s isle like was supposed to. He usually listened better.

“Hey, Chris…”

“I’m not crying!” He wipes his eyes.

“I know.” You give him a smile.

“I just got dust in my eye. They need to clean these shelves better.” He crossed his arms across his chest. You crouched down in front of Adrian.

“Hey, Ade. Why don’t you go pick out a movie for us to watch tonight from the clearance bin?” He wiggled excitedly before taking off towards the bin of cheaper VHS tapes.

“Stay where I can see you!” You called after him. He did just as you said and stayed in your line of vision as you talked to Chris more privately.

“Level with me. I know you weren’t crying, but if you had been crying…hypothetically of course…you could tell me anything. You know that, right?” You weren’t sure if you were breaking the timeline, but at this point you didn’t care. Chris deserved to be able to trust someone in his life.

“I wasn’t crying.” Chris tried to walk away from you, but you caught his arm in your hand.

“Chris, wait-“ He hissed as you made contact with his shoulder. Your jaw drops and you can almost feel tears in your eyes. You pulled up his sleeve to reveal small, circular burn marks. They were burns left behind from where his father had put out cigarettes in his arm.

“Stop starring at me like I’m a freak and just let me go.” He pushes you off of him and he walks away. You knew this job would be hard, but it’s a lot worse than you expected. You had no idea it would be this awful constant moral battle between letting these kids get hurt and keeping the timeline in tact. After realizing you were all alone and you could still see Adrian, but he wasn’t paying attention to you, you started to cry. After taking a deep breath you wiped your tears and picked up the tape recorder, putting the shirts for yourself on the shelf. Fuck it. Chris deserved something his dad couldn’t ruin. So what if you had to wear Diane’s maternity clothes and any clothes her husband left behind? You knew how much he loved music. He deserved this. Timeline be damned he deserved one fucking thing in his life untouched by his father. You hid it in the cart under some of Adrian’s clothes before heading to him digging around in the clearance vhs section.

“Rey!” He called for you as soon as he saw you.

“Adrian!” You called back, pretending to be happy. “Did you pick one?” You ask.

“This one!” He says, excitedly shoving the tape in your hands. You couldn’t help, but smile a real genuine smile. In your hands was a copy of the movie Adrian told you was his favorite growing up; The Brave Little Toaster.

“Have you seen this one?” You ask.

“No!” He smiles, hardly able to stand still.

“You’re gonna love it.” You smile, placing it in the cart. You take his hand and you both head to the men’s section to get clothes for Gut and Chris. Gut picked out a Green Day shirt, while Chris picked out a Nirvana shirt. You were happy when Chris didn’t pick up the Green Day shirt because you knew having that might get him in trouble in the next 10 years when they come out with American Idiot. His dad’s gonna hate that. These were of course considered hot new bands and most of their most famous songs weren’t even out yet. After picking out a couple more clothing items you headed to checkout. You were thankful Adrian was being such a distraction because Chris didn’t even see you put the tape recorder in the bag. With the remaining money, you took a bus to Fennel Fields for dinner where you told Diane you’d meet her on her night shift.

“Mommy!” Adrian yelled running up to her as soon walked through the door. It was nice to see him with his mother.

After grabbing a pizza you headed home. When you got there you pulled Chris aside and gave him the tape recorder.

“Happy birthday.” You said handing him the Walmart bag.

“It’s not my birthday.” He gives you a strange look.

“I know. Just think of it as an advance on your birthday gift.” You smile as he starts to open it.

“Is this mine?” He asks in shock. You nod. “Why did you do this?” He asks.

“Because you deserve something that’s yours that you enjoy.” You say as you watch his eyes well up with tears again.

“I’m not crying.” He says again.

“I know. But even if you were…it’s okay…” He stares at you for a moment before bringing you into a wordless hug. You stand there for a moment, shocked. You never expected this from him, but you wrap your arms around him anyway.

“Thank you.”

“Of course. You deserve it.” You remind him. You know it won’t change the timeline much, but this time, you hope it does something.

After tucking Adrian in, you leave Gut and Chris to play video games until Diane gets home. You head to your room, flipping onto your bed with a sigh. You just hope you did the right thing. You open your phone and head to your voicemails. This has almost become routine.

“Hey babe, it’s me. I’m just calling because I know you had a bad day today and I was thinking…” You close your eyes, as the voicemail plays and you begin to cry. You’ll see him again one day. You have to. You didn’t know how or when, but you had to. You’d figure it out. You’d make a plan.

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emerxshiu · 1 year ago

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im back lol with a fuzzy neo post

originally an almost full body pic, but i only rendered this part cuz i dunno, too lazy to do the rest, and i thought it looked kinda cool, im starting to consider it can be placed around some of my best digital drawings but idk

my mind has been having (aside from a terrible kirfluff brainrot) a fuzzy neo brainrot, i have also created some hc for mammalization, such as growing lungs, bones, and generally mammal stuff cephalopods dont have. and i have created a silly lil au too, but thats probably for another post

i feel like its lacking something, i mean, in the ilineart without colors neo looks more, deranged? something like that, dont feel like posting that pic so trust me on that one

also, i sometimes write on ao3 and i'd appreciate if you'd all check it out, tho i dunno if the stories are very good as i tend to have a hard time writing interactions and stuff, but i guess i'll get better with time and y'know stuff, same user there btw

i genuinlly debated wether i should give em bear ears or nah for like a minute

#splatoon #art #fanart #splatoon 3 fanart #splatoon veronika #splatoon neo agent 3 #neo agent 3 #fuzzy ooze #kinda i guess #you cant really see it there tbh #return of the mammalians #fuzzy neo agent 3 #digital art

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esta-elavaris · 2 months ago

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I have half a mind to make this a cute little miniseries but I don't know whether I will or not.

Modern AU meet cute -- originally for flufftober, before I decided I would not be doing flufftober. I hope you guys enjoy, just a bit of cute fluffiness for this far too warm Wednesday evening.

I'll post it on AO3 eventually, but for now it's just here.

Main, tenth walker, modern girl in Middle-earth fic of these two can be found here 💜

Dividers by cafekitsune

Boromir/Sybil [Boromir/OC] ~ 2,880 words

Sybil was having what was quite possibly the worst day of her entire year.

Striding through Gondor’s vast parkland, she turned her head this way and that, tears stinging her eyes and a lump lodging itself in her throat.

“Sarah? Sarah! Oh come on, damn you – Sarah?!”

Nothing. No response, no glimpse of ruddy red between the trees, nothing. What was she going to do? What could she do? Going home alone wasn’t an option, but how much longer should she search? When did it become a matter of informing authorities? Did one even inform authorities, in circumstances such as this?

…Was she hurt? Had she been taken?

“Sarah? Sarah!”

She was so concerned with her search that she didn’t bother looking where she was going, and she realised the stupidity in that only when she tripped.

Tumbling into the grass, she managed to roll as she did, taking the brunt of the impact to her hip rather than her tailbone. She was apologising before she’d even registered the pain.

“I am so sorry!” she exclaimed to the owner of the slack-clad legs she’d tripped over.

A businessman, judging by his dress, reclined on the grass, the remnants of his lunch gathered in a paper bag at his side. He was already sitting up, caught between grabbing at her to make sure she was already and the knowledge that laying hands on unknown women was not a welcome thing.

She tried to right what she’d knocked over – a paper coffee cup, which she realised had thankfully already been empty – and then accepted his help to rise, which he offered as he did so, too. Her heart thudded in her chest as she already wondered how quickly she could leave without being rude, more concerned with her search than with this stranger who was making enquiries as to her wellbeing that she only half listened to.

Then, though, she registered who she was looking at. Boromir. Lord Boromir. The Steward’s son.

Her panic – it had to be the only reason she hadn’t recognised him from the start. How many times had his face been flashed across the television screen in her home growing up, usually accompanied by her parents shaking their heads? When she was very young, the news pieces usually despaired at his teenage antics, often debating (just a touch too gleefully) whether any typical youthful foolishness was actually an indicator of a deeper, more troubling character flaw. But as he aged into young adulthood, and Sybil grew old enough to heed the goings-on of Gondor at all, those stories shifted, instead hailing him as the people’s prince – despite the fact that he technically wasn’t one – and singing of his wartime achievements.

These days, the press took on a decidedly different turn, focusing instead on when he would finally marry. And, more importantly, whom.

Naturally, Sybil found the whole bloody thing ridiculous. Not only that, but also intrusive to any unlucky enough to be involved, and – most of all – entirely irrelevant to her life. So she paid it little mind. But now he was smiling at her, he was handsome, and she was blushing.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I? I wasn’t looking, it was stupid of me – I’m so-”

“I’m uninjured,” he cut in with a warm laugh. “Truth be told, I’ve been debating on whether to offer you my assistance. You’ve lost your friend?”

If it was a friend she’d lost track of, she wouldn’t be wandering the park on the brink of tears. She wasn’t quite that pathetic just yet.

“Sort of,” she offered an embarrassed smile. “A four-legged one.”

Mostly, she just wanted to end this encounter with as much dignity and speed as humanly possible so she could get back to her search without worrying about creating a diplomatic incident.

“A dog?” he understood her meaning easily. “You…you named your dog Sarah?”

Sybil met his eye, then quickly looked away, and finally looked at him again, knowing what she had to do but doubting she had the strength.

“It’s…it’s a stupid joke.”

“Now you must tell me,” amusement coloured his tone.

“Look, I really need to-”

“The sooner you tell me, the sooner you will secure my aid. I’ve quite a lot of confidence that I can help you.”

Quietly, Sybil muttered the dog’s full name. He didn’t catch it.

“Pardon?”

“Sarah Jessica Barker,” she repeated.

There was no way he wouldn’t understand the reference. Sex and the White City had been filmed here in Gondor, after all, continuing to shut down the fancier levels of Minas Tirith whenever an additional movie or season was dredged back up.

Lord Boromir’s lips stretched into a wide grin, his chest stuttering a little as he swallowed down a laugh, before he cast his eyes out into the distance, visibly trying to school himself back into seriousness. Great. Being laughed at by one of the loftiest men in the land in this moment, of all moments, was packing salt into a wound that still bled – and whatever momentary bedazzlement had struck her upon coming face to face to him quickly faded into annoyance, her lips thinning and nostrils flaring.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she said flatly.

She spun on her heel but his voice stopped her.

“Wait – wait. Miss! I’m sorry,” he held out a hand as if to snatch at her wrist, before he seemed to remember that grabbing strange women in parks wasn’t particularly well-received in civilised society. “Please. Allow me to help you. Truly, I didn’t mean to laugh.”

He was so contrite, and so damn earnest, that she couldn’t continue to be annoyed. Not outwardly, at least. And whatever ire still had her chest feeling tight was more panic masquerading as anger than anything else – the latter feeling somehow more palatable to feel.

“Fine, but unless you’ve seen her, I’m really not sure how you can help.”

“What does she look like?”

So sincere was his contrition that any who saw them without knowing who they were might think him her assistance, standing and regarding her solemnly, his hands behind his back as he waited, prepared for any request she might have. And then there were his eyes. So warm, and shining with true concern. It was enough to do away with the last of her annoyance.

“Tall, blonde, with a fondness for high heels,” her attempt at a joke was weak, but it earned her a grin, and he at least stopped looking so damn guilty. “She’s…she’s a spaniel. A red spaniel. She doesn’t bother much with strangers, so she wouldn’t have come up to you. I’m sure you would have missed her, if you weren’t specifically looking for her.”

“Perhaps, but hope is not lost. Come – please.”

And follow she did. Not because she ascribed to the belief that his station gave him mystical powers of capability, but just for sheer lack of anything else to do. What was the alternative? Refuse, and continue to wander, her calls for Sarah going ignored? And he seemed pretty sure of himself, at least. That gave him more going for him than she had for herself.

Boromir led the way to the pond that the park boasted – a manmade feature in a rough oval shape that curled in on itself, spanning almost the full width of the park, with a bridge stretching over it that was a very popular scenic spot for proposals.

“Ah,” he stared at the water. “It’s just as I thought.”

Still addled by panic, it took her a second to realise what he was talking about, beyond a look that confirmed that her dog was not, in fact, lurking beneath the surface. The emerald green algae that coated the surface of the water by the stony shore was disturbed, broken up here where it was otherwise a thick undisturbed carpet all the way to the left and right.

It was with a heavy sigh that he spoke next.

“The ducks like to gather on a hidden ledge beneath the bridge there,” he explained. “And the dogs like to bother the ducks.”

As he talked, he stood on one foot, lifted the other with not even the slightest wobble, and began to untie his shiny black leather shoe. He was moving onto the second one by the time she broke through her shock.

“What are you doing?”

He grinned at her, the impact annoyingly devastating.

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“Something ridiculous – you can’t go in there.”

“I must reunite you with your, forgive me, ridiculously named hound. The ends justify the means.”

“If she really did swim under there, she can swim back,” she protested.

Apparently willing to entertain her theory, but visibly unconvinced by it, he gestured at her as if to say by all means. Then he stood, rubbing at the back of his neck as she called out to her hound. The ledge that he’d spoken of was only barely visible from where they stood, but at her call, a black nose poked around the corner of the underside of the bridge, followed by fur that usually glowed a beautiful golden red on sunny days like this, but was now a sodden algae-ridden ruddy mess.

"Sarah!" she called, hunkering down and holding out her arms. “Sarah, come here!”

The dog panted, and she might’ve wagged her tail, but otherwise she regarded the water, and then Sybil, as if she was asking far too much. As if she hadn’t just been in that very water.

“Oh, for the love of…”

With a groan, she toed off one trainer, and then the other. She wasn’t wearing white today, at least that was something – nor anything particularly nice. Just workout leggings and a long, baggy tank top reserved for dog walking and generally not being seen by anybody of consequence. So much for that.

“What are you doing?” Boromir echoed her earlier words, placing himself between her and the pond.

“I’m getting my dog.”

“I’ll do it,” he laughed as if her idea was ridiculous.

“She’s my dog.”

“It’s my father’s pond,” he countered easily. “Technically speaking. And I was the one who presided over its opening ceremony, so I suppose it’s also part mine.”

“You can’t-”

“I insist! I can’t have you stealing my thunder when I have an opportunity for heroics.”

Those brilliant, handsome grins of his could easily have her giving him the damn dog if he kept it up. As he made his insistences, he took the cufflinks from his cuffs, handing them to her for safekeeping before he began to roll up his shirtsleeves. Too stunned for words, she may have ended up staring at his forearms…and he may have caught her. The grin on his face became just a touch more boyish for it.

“Are you sure?” she asked, shielding her eyes from the sun as she squinted up at him.

“I insist,” he repeated. “On one condition.”

“Oh?”

“Tell me your name.”

It beggared belief. How swiftly, without being able to even pinpoint when it had happened, the atmosphere between them felt charged, somehow, now that she wasn’t driven by panic. When he saw how his condition surprised her, he looked just a little too smug, so Sybil gave herself a shake, cleared her throat, and breathed a laugh.

“Well?” he prompted, removing his socks next.

“You haven’t held up your end of the deal yet.”

She almost regretted her words when he stepped into the pond. Gritting his teeth, he hissed sharply at the cold, then looked at her as if to make sure she was still watching. When he found that she was – little could persuade her to look away – he schooled his features back into an amused sort of determination, his brow set with a smirk tugging at his lips.

Sarah watched the spectacle with curiosity.

As he waded deeper into the pond, Sybil couldn’t help but be relieved that he’d volunteered himself for the task. The water, when it just reached his hips, would’ve already been well up to her waist.

“She doesn’t bite, does she?” he called back towards the shore.

“No. I’m more worried about her making a break for it.”

If she decided she’d rather not be captured by the strange man, she could easily jump back in and swim further up the shore. All right, if she did that, Sybil could run and try to beat her to whatever patch of land she emerged at, but it would complicate matters. Especially if the dog decided this was a very fun game to play.

“I’ll catch her, if she does,” he replied, unfazed. “I’m a fair swimmer.”

Yes. She’d heard that particular tale. Although she’d never be so insensitive as to bring it up. Although the knowledge of what he’d seen, fought, and lived through, did make the sight of him wading through a pond to retrieve her dog all the more surreal.

“Faster than a dog?” she asked doubtfully.

“My lady, if you keep doubting me, I shall have no choice but to take it personally,” he levelled her with a boyish grin over his shoulder before he turned back to the pup.

She was glad for his divided attention, for it would hopefully mean he’d miss how she blushed.

Boromir continued wading towards the dog, her brown eyes fixed on him with a sort of interest Sybil knew well enough to recognise as mischief, but even still hoped she might be mistaken. It was all for naught, though. Once Boromir was just out of arm’s reach, she yapped, and then threw herself into the water, paddling happily past him and towards the shore. Once out of the water, she shook herself off with ease, and then trotted to Sybil, sopping tail throwing algae with each wag.

Yes, there would be absolutely no living this down.

Lifting the dog into her arms just for something to occupy her hands with, she slotted the lead back onto her collar, and then watched in mortification as Boromir waded his way back out of the water. They’d drawn rather a crowd.

“I am so, so sorry,” she said when he drew near, trailing water in his wake.

His white shirt was now a very strange brown-ish green, clinging to his abdomen in a way that was determined to draw the eye.

“Don’t be,” he insisted, “I mean it. A more novel lunch I’ve never had.”

Wriggling in her grasp, Sarah panted, writhing and trying to struggle in the direction of her would-be rescuer. Unhesitating, Boromir extended his arms, looking to her for permission. When Sybil granted it, he accepted the dog with warm laughter, keeping her easily in his grasp despite how she jolted, holding her just far enough away that her attempts to lick his nose would prove fruitless.

"Hello, Sarah," he greeted, eyed Sybil warmly for a few moments, and then returned is attention to the pup. “Your mother is very pretty when she’s embarrassed, did you know that?”

“Technically, I’m her aunt. She was my sister’s before she was mine.”

“I think I shall make it my mission to have her grow more comfortable with compliments, too,” he commented idly, holding the dog in one strong arm so he could scratch behind her ears with the other hand. “What do you think?”

He spoke to the dog but he looked to her, his face more tentative than his words, as if worried he was making her uncomfortable. Sybil acted on impulse. Later, she’d blame it on the sun beating down on them, the collective of people who were pretending (poorly) not to watch, and the sheer amount of genuine kindness in his smile.

“I…live nearby. And I have a tumble dryer, clothes that may just fit you, and a collection of coffee options that beggars belief. If any of that would do as thanks.”

“Ah, but you have not yet offered the thanks I am truly interested in,” he said – and then balked, appearing to realise how suggestive his words sounded, and quickly added. “Your name.”

She wasn’t the only one, she thought, who was pretty when she blushed. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she stifled a smile at how he appeared to be in no rush at all to return her dog – nor was Sarah in any rush to be unhanded.

“Sybil,” she answered finally. “My name is Sybil.”

Extended a hand, her cheeks blazed when he accepted it and then lifted her knuckles to his lips. He had to bend a little at the waist to avoid yanking her arm up at an uncomfortable angle, such was the height difference between them – and his beard tickled her skin when he kissed her hand.

“Sybil,” he repeated with a smile when he’d released her hand, “it suits you. Now, tell me more about this coffee collection.”

She took up his shoes, seeing as he was in no hurry to release the dog, and he nodded his thanks before nodding that she should lead the way out of the park. In the back of her mind, she wondered if she didn’t owe Sarah a treat or two after all.

#boromir/sybil #boromir x oc #boromir/oc #boromir fanfiction #modern au #lotr fanfiction #fluff #modern!boromir

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cannibalsforbreakfast · 7 months ago

Text

Cruel Summer - Chapter 1

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: The "Eddie Munson is a speedway racer" high school AU no one asked for, but you're getting it anyways. Enemies to friends to lovers | No-Upsidedown AU | Fast cars, fast times | Reader moved from "the city" to Hawkins

Tags [will be updated as things progress]: swearing, underage drinking, dangerous driving, Jason sucks as usual, mentions of weed, light angst, misunderstandings, reader is afab, not sure if I'll have smut yet or not

A/N: Chapter 1 is already on Ao3 but here's the Tumblr version! New chapters will always be posted on Ao3 first, with a week or so delay to here.

CH1: 3,780w

-- -- --

“Hot summer streets and the pavements are burning, I sit around / Trying to smile, but the air is so heavy and dry”

If anyone had asked, you wouldn’t have said car racing was something you’d be interested in. Watching hunks of metal speeding around in circles always seemed pretty pointless to you. When combined with the auditory chaos of engines and screaming crowds, and nauseating smell of gasoline and burning rubber, it had never been high on your bucket list.

Then again, neither had moving to Hawkins, Indiana. And yet, here you were: stuck in small-town nowhere for (just, you hoped) the summer. But a summer practically felt like forever to you.

And so you were at the speedway car races with your cousin, Robin. Because apparently, she said, it would “be fun” and “social” and “lots of people went.”

You supposed you should be lucky Robin was pretty chill about hanging out with you. After all, having your city-slicker cousin practically dumped on your doorstep without so much as a “by your leave” by your parents — who had gone off to “rediscover themselves” and hopefully salvage five years of impending divorce — probably wasn’t high on HER bucket list, either. She and her parents had been more than welcoming, sticking you and your five overstuffed suitcases in the spare room on the second floor, just next door to Robin, without hesitation and urging you to make yourself at home.

If you saw Robin and her parents exchange some pointed and pitying glances, well, you’d just try and ignore them. Because they were right. Your parents clearly didn’t care enough about you to take you with them on their wild second-honeymoon or whatever, so they’d abandoned you without looking back, saying they’d pick you up in a couple months before school started up again. They thought. Maybe homeschooling had been implied as a possibility if they happened to return a bit later than assumed from…Panama? Costa Rica? Whatever warm, probably tropical, place they’d gone to. Without their only daughter.

Honestly, sometimes you just felt the truth of it in your bones when, at the height of their marital Cold War, they’d each called the other some variant of “frigid bitch.” Only the coldest of the cold would up and abandon their offspring like that, without any evident desire to really take responsibility for them ever again. If you just wandered off at the end of the summer, got a job waiting tables in the nearest big city, didn’t bother to send a forwarding address, you didn’t think they’d be too fussed. Depressing.

The frozen atmosphere at home had gone on so long, you’d practically adopted aloofness yourself as a survival mode. What you didn’t feel, couldn’t hurt. Didn’t help you with making any friends once you’d entered high school, but it kept anyone from really bothering you for three years. The summer before your senior year was supposed to be this golden eternity of afternoons at the pool, perfecting your tan, or giggling at the local mall while licking ice creams and debating who-liked-who-liked-who.

Not wasting away in Hawkins, a town small enough you bet you could count all of the stoplights on one hand.

You missed the city so much it ached . Missed the dizzying heights of the buildings towering above you, missed the way the very air seemed to thrum with an energy, a beat that got into your pulse and made you feel alive. Missed the hole-in-the-wall restaurants on every street and the used bookstores piled high with more volumes than you could read in a lifetime. Hawkins was…quaint, but inside you worried if you stayed here long enough it would drain the life out of you until you couldn’t make it anywhere else.

Not that you’d say any of that to Robin, who was babbling cheerfully away at your side as you strolled up to the local speedway just out of town. She was wearing a loose striped men’s shirt with the cuffs rolled up and jeans, despite the lingering heat of the evening. Robin, you’d come to learn, was pretty much always babbling about something or another, a natural condition that tended to get even worse whenever she was flustered or nervous. Given your tendency to listen, rather than speak, you actually balanced each other out rather well. With her, surprisingly, you felt you could be…yourself…that little bit more. Felt a bit of that icy shell melt away.

You tuned back in to hear her say, “We’re going to meet up with Steve, he’s gotten there early to stake us out a spot. You wouldn’t think it but it can get really crowded and picking the right spot out of the sun and the dust and on the right side of the track is, like, crucial to the enjoyment factor. Steve’s a boy, by the way. He’s not my boyfriend – well, he’s a boy who’s a friend, but we’re not like that, actually he’s more like an annoying brother. But he’s not annoying, I promise!”

You smiled to yourself as Robin rambled on. Truly, you found it more endearing than not.

“I’m sure he’s nice,” you said, cutting in so Robin could actually take a full breath. She smiled back at you.

“Yeah, he’s great. But don’t tell him I said that, I swear his hair grows an inch every time someone says something nice about him.”

You smiled and promised that, of course, you wouldn’t breathe a word.

The two of you step up to the bored-looking teenager taking tickets, and you passed over your paper stub, slightly sweaty from being clutched in your hand. Stepping through the entrance gate, you’re immediately assaulted with the smell of deep-fried foods mixed with beer, the raucous laughter of crowds of families and teens here for an evening out. A fine dust permeated the air, making your eyes water. The track, a packed dirt oval that was both bigger and smaller than you imagined, spread out before you, bordered by some haphazardly stacked rectangle bales of hay you assumed were there for the “safety” of the crowd, though they looked anything but. You imagined any car crashing into those at serious speed would take them out easily…as well as the onlookers setting up their camp chairs frighteningly close to the barrier.

Across the track, a small elevated building rigged with wires and a mounted loudspeaker was clearly where the announcers were situated. Tinny commentary was blaring from the PA system, but it was almost impossible to hear above the general din.

There were mullets and wife-beaters on display everywhere. As you looked around, you noted that everyone – and you mean everyone – seemed to be dressed in nothing more formal than jeans and a shirt. You hadn’t batted an eye when Robin left the house like that, because that’s what your cousin always wore. And she’d told you to dress casual but…

“Robin,” you asked, “am I overdressed?”

She’d been herding you along the track toward one end, but at your question she glanced over at you and winced, which you supposed was answer enough.

“Robinnnnn,” you whined.

“What?” she protested. “I said ‘casual,’ that’s what you came out in, so I figured it was fine!”

Up until you saw the sea of daisy dukes before you, you’d thought what you were wearing was casual. It certainly was back in the city. The simple, white-and-red polkadot dress you were wearing, cinched at the waist with a plain wide belt you’d dug out the bottom of your suitcase, cute frilly sleeves sitting just below your tanned shoulders, wouldn’t have been anything your classmates back home blinked at. You hadn’t even done your makeup, besides a swipe of lip gloss! But you were rapidly getting the sense you’d have to redefine your expectations here in Hawkins. And with the swirls of rust-colored dust almost constantly permeating the air, you could already tell white was a particularly bad choice.

Oh well, you’d just have to make the best of it. And get the dress in the wash sooner rather than later.

“It’s alright, Robin,” you reassured your cousin, who’d been worrying at her lip while you thought. “It’s just a dress. Plus, it’s not like I’ll be in any of the cars,” you joked.

“Steve’ll probably have a blanket or something you can use anyways,” she said. “He’s a dad like that. Oh look, there he is. Steve! Steeeeve! Ugh, he isn’t listening. OI, DINGUS!”

Robin waved frantically at a boy a bit ahead of you, who’d staked out a pretty prime spot on the hillside around the middle of the straightaway, complete with camping chairs, picnic blanket and cooler of what you desperately hoped was something cold. Now this is what you’d imagined when Robin said “races.” And it was comfortingly far away from the hay barrier.

The boy – Steve – raked his hands through his already artfully disheveled mop of hair and rolled his eyes at Robin.

“Could you shout any louder?” he grumbled. “Jesus, I think the whole crowd heard you.”

“Oh don’t be such a wuss. Hey, this is my cousin. She’s cool. Cousin, meet Steve. He’s a dweeb.”

“A dweeb with charm, also known as the best kind,” Steve said with a smile, reaching out to shake your hand. “I heard you’re in town for the summer. Welcome to Hawkins – guessing it’s a pretty big change from where you’re from.”

“Um, yeah, wasn’t sure what to expect, but it’s better than I thought. Lots of nice people,” you offered him a small smile in return, a bit taken aback by the easy way he folded you into the dynamic.

“I’ll bet,” he agreed. “First time at a speedway?”

“First time at any kind of races,” you admitted. “I have no idea what’s going on.”

“Not much too it really,” Robin said around a mouthful of beer. Clearly, she’d helped herself to Steve’s stash, but by the way he just shook his head, you got the sense this was basically normal. He silently offered you a bottle, but you shook your head – maybe in a bit. Steve did seem nice, but you weren’t quite ready to be under the influence under someone new just yet. Robin kept talking: “Cars go zoom zoom, and the one that goes zoom zoom the fastest wins. We mostly just come here to support Eddie.”

You cocked your head. “Who’s Eddie?”

“Friend from school. He’s been working extra shifts all summer, which is why you haven’t met him yet. He works down at the local body shop, races on the side. We’ll point his car out when he’s up.”

You nodded, sure he’d be nice too, if Robin’s taste in friends so far was anything to go by.

The three of you sat, chatting amiably for a few minutes, and you felt yourself relaxing into Robin and Steve’s easy, familiar banter. They traded well-worn jabs back and forth, but there’s no heat behind them. You settled yourself on the blanket between them, tucking your skirt beneath your legs and mostly enjoying the vibe, only chiming in when you had something to say, like when Steve started to say “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off” was supposedly underrated (he was wrong, and both you and Robin soundly told him so).

As the sun finally started to go down – days were still long and hot, and all three of you were peevishly slapping at overly familiar mosquitos – the track lights finally flickered into life and it seemed like things were about to start. Robin let out a squeal, wiggling her knees in excitement.

You were all ready for – you didn’t know, monster trucks or something? – when, to your surprise, the first line of cars that raced onto the track looked more like glorified go karts than anything else. Seeing your confusion, Steve leaned over and murmured, “They do the kiddie stuff first,” and you then saw that the drivers did seem awfully young. Fortunately they were wearing helmets.

The announcer counted down the start, and at the waving of the first green flag they tore around the track, kicking up immense clouds of gasoline-scented dust that settled over everything – your hair, your clothes, you could even see it coating the fine hairs on your arm. Gross.

And these little kids were vicious. Not crashing directly into each other, but drifting aggressively around the turns and cutting each other off within what looked like inches to spare between bumpers. Everyone was cheering on individual numbers, and you, Steve and Robin got into it by picking your favorite car and rooting for them at the top of your lungs. After a few heats you felt your throat dry up, and gratefully accepted one of the cooling bottles of beer Steve offered.

Beer with friends on a Friday night. Weirdly, this felt more like how you thought summer was supposed to go than you figured you’d get in Hawkins. Or anywhere.

As the night wore on, the races of the small and mid-sized cars started to blur into each other, and you started idly wondering when you’d be able to go home. Well. To Robin’s home.

“And nowwwww, the event you’ve all been waiting forrrrr!” shrilled the announcer.

From the back paddock where all the cars were parked, there came a grunty rumble. A vibration that made its way into your bones, your veins, the thump-thump of your heart. This was the rhythm you’d been missing, filling you up from the inside out.

And then, the first line of proper-sized cars ripped their way onto the track, to a massive cheer from the crowd. But you weren’t even sure you could call them “cars.” Dinged, dented, and beaten back into shape, these were machines reduced to the essence of speed. Any extra baggage had clearly been ripped out – seats, radio, even the entire bottom half of the trunk was gone. What was left was the engines, the driver’s seat, and anything essential to make them go.

They ran a few menacing laps around the track, jostling for position on the grid.

“Look, there’s Eddie!” Robin pointed.

“Which one is he?” you asked.

“The black one, with the red bat on the hood.”

“Eddie’s always had a flair for the dramatic,” Steve clarified.

Your eyes traced the black car as Eddie maneuvered it into the inside of the track, on the front row – “That’s a good position,” Steve clarified again. Unlike most of the other cars, which had paint jobs in varying states of peeling off, Eddie clearly kept his car freshly painted despite the risk of damage – it gleamed, pitch blank, with just the blood red of the bat leaping out of the design. From what you could see of Eddie, as he was mostly shielded by a helmet, he was also in all black.

“I’m sensing a theme,” you muttered dryly.

Like horses jostling for position, the cars – there must have been a dozen or so – revved their engines just behind the starting line. There was an agonizing moment of tension, where everyone stared at the red stoplight holding them in place.

Then it winked green, the flag was waved, and the race began.

You watched as Eddie’s car and the one on his right, painted a chipped red-white-and-blue roared to the front like bats of out hell. They gunned it down the straightaway before whipping into a drift around the curve that was so aggressive, their cars yawing onto two wheels so hard, your hands flew to your mouth to swallow a gasp despite yourself, sure they’d tip over or spin out. Magically Eddie’s car righted itself as he came out of the turn and he gunned it down the next straight, neck and neck with the other vehicle.

The laps went by in what felt to you like seconds, a frenetic dance conducted at speed. With the razor-thin margins the two cars took the turns, you knew that if Eddie lost concentration for a nanosecond, he’d be out of the race. You blinked dust out of your eyes furiously, loath to miss a single second. Next to you, Robin and Steve were yelling – you were pretty sure Robin was just repeating profanities at this point – but you could hardly make yourself breathe normally, let alone cheer.

There were only a few laps to go and the other car had stolen the lead from Eddie. Though Eddie was keeping the black monstrosity right on his tail, pushing himself right into the rear bumper to try and throw the other driver off.

They made another sharp drift around a corner and, as they came off the curve, Eddie made his move, pushing the throttle to take his car around the outside of the red-and-white leader. He took the turn, hard, trying to get his nose in front of the other car’s, and this time you did let out a whimper of concern. Your heart thumped in time with the roar of the crowd, and when Eddie made it, slipping in front of his rival to cross the finish line first, you couldn’t help but sigh in relief.

Steve and Robin were now jumping up and down and hugging each other, and you smiled at their infectious joy.

The other cars coasted to a stop in the middle of the track while Eddie took his victory lap, waving the checkered flag from out the driver’s window. He must have spotted the two maniacs next to you, because the car rolled to a stop on the track in front of you, and Eddie stepped out from the car.

You knew he drove like a devil, but you weren’t expecting him to look like a fallen angel.

A strange shiver ran through you as you watched him pull off his black helmet. Long, dark curls spilled out, framing his sharp, sculpted face. Even with his bangs sweat-soaked and disheveled, he was capital H-O-T. Dark hair, dark eyes, with a plush mouth you knew was made for sin. He was everything your parents would have warned you away from, and everything you – or your body, at least – immediately wanted.

“Be normal,” you thought to yourself. “This is Robin’s friend .”

Robin and Steve trotted down to the side of the track, and you trailed behind them, a little unsure. It was the last race of the evening, and with the entertainment over, the crowds were starting to melt away. It didn’t escape your notice that while all the other drivers were getting handshakes and back-slaps galore from their fellow racers and even some officials, no one had come over to congratulate the actual winner, Eddie, except for the three of you.

“Edieeeeee, you won!” Robin shrieked at her usual top-volume. “But also, ugh, you smell like fumes, ew no, don’t hug me.” She wiggled away from his playful attempt at a hug, wrinkling your nose.

“Comes with the territory, Robin, you’re just gonna have to get used to it. You certainly don’t mind when I’m fixing your car for free, again . Hey, Steve, nice of the King to make an appearance.” The two boys traded fist bumps, Steve rolling his eyes at his high school nickname. You broke into a wide smile at their antics.

Eddie’s eyes met yours, where you lingered behind, and he arched one eyebrow, his previously warm and open expression becoming more guarded, scanning you from the top of your windswept hair to the bottom of your now quite dusty flats. Your smile faded, and you resisted the urge to brush yourself off in the face of his gaze.

“Who’s this?” he asked. “Wasn’t aware we had a third cheerleader on the squad. Does little miss Dots like what she has to see so far?”

You find yourself bristling at his presumptuous tone. “I don’t quite take your meaning,” you respond stiffly.

Eddie laughed, an open, easy sound you could have loved – except for the sharp edge to his voice. He straddled the hay bale, spreading his hands open. You tried not to look at how his black racing uniform stretched tight over his thighs. Really, you tried.

“Come on, guys, this is a joke, right? Ha, ha, Eddie’s first race of the season, let��s get a cute little cupcake of a girl to come along, flirt a little, string lil ’ol Eddie along? Give the girl a ride to remember?”

He fixed his molten brown eyes on you. “Did someone put you up to it, Dots? Patrick? Jason? It’s the sort of shit thing Jason would do.”

By this point, both Steve and Robin were exchanging a confused glance that clearly conveyed their shared sense of, “uh, what?” But you knew exactly what.

Eddie had taken one look at you – at your too-much dress, too-much smile, maybe something else you didn’t even know in your demeanor – and concluded that the only possible explanation for your presence was that you were a…paid escort? Hooker? Someone bribed to come watch his race and flutter your eyelashes at him, spread her legs?

You felt the usual protection of your ice queen reputation from back home freezing off any earlier warmth from your expression.

“Someone clearly has a high opinion of himself. I’m not going to cream just because you’ve got half skills with half a car. Get over yourself. Robin,” you turn to your cousin, “I’m going back to the house.”

“It’s miles to the house,” Robin protested, nervous gaze flicking between you – fuming – and Eddie – nonchalantly picking at his cuticles, not sparing you another glance.

“I’ll walk.” It was only a mile or so to Robin’s, and you didn’t want to spend a single second more in his company, friends with your cousin or not. Eddie’d done a spectacular job of reminding you why you usually didn’t do things that were “fun” or “social” or that “lots of people” went to. You didn’t need another asshole man in your life, your father was doing a bang-up job of that by himself.

“I’d give you a ride, Dots, but as you can see,” Eddie gestured to the literally empty passenger seat in the stock car next to him, “I can’t.”

“Fuck you,” you hissed, whirling around and stomping off before reaching a hand up to swipe angrily at the tears pooling in the corners of your eyes.

You heard Robin run after you. “She’s my cousin you MORON,” she called back to Eddie. When she caught up to you, you gave her a watery smile in thanks, and she reached over to squeeze your shoulders.

New item for your summer bucket list: Never, ever see Eddie again.

-- -- --

Chapter 2

Lae's Masterlist

#cruel summer #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #fanfic #fanfiction #eddie munson fic #enemies to friends to lovers #speedway au

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randomprose · 1 year ago

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//part 2 of platonic itafushikugi. set after the kyoto goodwill school event//

i. the one where nobara and megumi cope | iii. the one about megumi

now posted on ao3!

Nobara crosses the corridor to the boys’ side of the dormitory and gets a sense of déjà vu when she sees Megumi hovering outside Yuuji’s bedroom.

It’s not a nightly thing—at least not on Nobara’s part. She’s stopped doing that after Yuuji quite literally came back from the dead. Seeing the familiar scene of Megumi waiting outside Yuuji’s door for… something , she can’t say the same thing for him.

Then again they just got back from another mission tonight where Yuuji, once again, had a really close call with death, and Nobara wonders if this is going to be a routine occurrence for them now.

("Why is it always him?" Megumi had grumbled earlier, but they both already knew the answer to that.)

Megumi’s got a pillow tucked under one of his arms and Nobara, clutching a pillow of her own, just sighs as she marches forward. The both of them didn’t bother with blankets because it’s not that cold tonight and Yuuji runs hot enough not to need spares. The boy is practically a walking furnace.

Nobara takes it upon herself to knock and announce they’re coming in because she suspects Megumi has been standing there for quite some time and if he hasn’t bothered to knock by now he never will. He’s probably still debating whether he should. Stupid boy.

“Oi, Itadori. I hope to the gods you’re decent and not at all doing something I dont wanna see ever ‘coz we’re going in.”

The door is unlocked and Nobara opens it before finishing her spiel. Yuuji looks at them in slight surprise from where he’s seated at the edge of his bed. It seems like he just starting to settle for the night. Good timing then.

“Kugisaki? Fushiguro?” Yuuji sounds confused like they haven’t been doing this for some time. “What’s up? Why are you guys—”

“I’m taking the wall this time,” Nobara announces, throwing her pillow at the corner and climbing past Yuuji. “I don’t wanna wake up on the floor like last time.”

“Guess that’ll be me then,” Fushiguro grumbles after her. “You know you’re the one who moves a lot in your sleep, right?”

“Oh! We’re having a sleepover! Cool!” Yuuji cheers, snuggling close to Nobara when Megumi tells him to scoot over and spreads his blanket across the three of them as best he can.

“Fushiguro, seriously. For what purpose do you feel the need to lie?” Lying on her side with her back pushed against the wooden wall, Nobara smirks, enjoying Megumi’s unimpressed stare. “C’mon. Let’s sleep already. I’m dead-ass tired and I need a full eight hours of beauty sleep if we’re gonna deal with Gojo-sensei tomorrow again.”

“Beauty sleep. Right,” Megumi snorts and snickers with Yuuji when Nobara grasps at one of the smaller pillows to hit him with.

“Shut up and turn off the light you sea urchin looking ass.”

Megumi flicks the light off and they mumble their good nights. Yuuji goes under almost immediately as the lights go off, but sleep doesn’t come as quick to Nobara.

Instead, she shifts closer to Yuuji, eliminating whatever little space they have left between them, and reveling in the warmth radiating off him. Her arm is draped over his torso and she focuses on feeling the rise and fall of his abdomen—inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale—and when Nobara’s hand travels up to feel the beating in his chest, she finds that a hand is already resting there, right where Yuuji’s heart rests, alive and pumping against his rib cage. Her fingers brush against long cold digits and when she opens her eyes, he sees Megumi looking at her.

Nobara stills but doesn’t look away from his expectant eyes. Megumi looks too alert in the dark and right here, the three of them tucked under Yuuji’s flimsy blanket that’s too small to fully cover them all, Nobara sees the open vulnerability in his too green eyes. There’s fear in them, something that doesn’t come as a surprise to her because, well, it was Megumi who got a front-row seat to the gory shitshow after all, but there’s understanding there too.

Images of how fucking messed up Megumi had been in the days following Yuuji’s death and how Nobara had to pick up the pieces flashes through her mind’s eye. He tried his best to hide it, but with only the two of them for a time spending their waking days at the school on missions and training, Nobara was bound to see through the cracks of Megumi’s thin veneer.

And Nobara is many things but she’s always been true to herself. She doesn’t say it and maybe she wasn’t as devastated as Megumi had been when Yuuji died (Jesus Christ, she wonders if the surreality of that will ever fade), but she’s her friend too and she's learned to care for him in the sparse time they’ve known each other much to her chagrin. Living through one too many life-threatening events tends to do that to people. If nothing else, Jujutsu Tech is really proficient in trauma bonding its students.

So, Nobara lays her hand on top of Megumi’s, squeezes it once feeling his cracked knuckles underneath her palm, and hopes she conveys the same understanding in the small gesture.

Megumi gets it and he shifts his hand minutely to slot their fingers together, his long calloused ones trapping Nobara’s smaller softer digits in between, and squeezes back.

They fall asleep like that, hand in hand, lulled to calm and sleep by the rhythmic beating of Yuuji’s heart, tucked safe and alive between them.

edit: now posted on ao3! also turning this into a 3 chaptered fic centered on each incident about them! next up will be megumi getting hit by hanami's cursed plants.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #itafushikugi #kugisaki nobara #itadori yuuji #fushiguro megumi #i love them pls #i wish we have more filler stories about them #writing

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